


Ghosts That Haunt

by Adderlygirl



Category: Adderly, Chuck - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2018-09-21 19:51:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 51
Words: 358,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9563849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adderlygirl/pseuds/Adderlygirl
Summary: A continuation of Forging a Life, where Casey is assigned a foreign operative as cover.  In this story, Casey and Mariah continue what has now become an actual relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After the original posting of Forging a Life on LJ, I allowed myself to be talked into writing a sequel. To be honest, big parts of this were already written while I tried to figure out where to end Forging. This is the happily-ever-after version, so you’ve been forewarned. 
> 
> On the other hand, it takes exactly 52 weeks to get there.
> 
> You do need to read Forging a Life first. This chapter follows Chapter 26 of that story.

This time, Riah stayed home until the bruises were gone.

In the meantime, Casey kept in touch with General Patterson. If she had to be a target for Watson, he wanted assurances that the weasel was under close surveillance. Casey also did his homework, carefully examined the man’s record, did a deep background check on the upstart captain, and found it hard to believe any man could be that squeaky-clean. He suspected the man’s record had been tampered with because not even Bartowski’s jacket was that sanitary before the Intersect.

It irritated the hell out of him that he couldn’t even find a traffic violation.

It further irritated him that Ellie Bartowski was doing some close surveillance of her own. Every time he turned around, she seemed to be there. She stuck by Riah as if they were Siamese twins, and Casey tolerated it because he was certain she only did so while she tried to determine whether or not he was the one who hurt Riah. As a result, and at Riah’s suggestion, he endured an evening playing host to Ellie, her fiancé, her brother, and Walker.

He knew Riah had had Ellie over in his absence, but this was the first time they’d done anything like this together. Riah obsessed over the details to the point Casey finally told her in frustrated exasperation that it was just dinner. That had been after he came downstairs in the early hours of the morning to find her seated at the table with a number of paper wads scattered in front of her. Two non-wadded sheets lay before her. He read over her shoulder, saw they were menus.

“Isn’t that about four courses too many?” he asked, reading a seven-course menu that featured standing rib roast, two appetizers, shrimp cocktail, a fancy salad featuring greens he would pretend he’d never heard of, citrus and herb granite, mashed parsnips, roasted asparagus, and a chocolate torte. The other was equally elaborate but had fish for the main course.

“Too much?” she asked.

“Not if you make sure everyone fasts for forty-eight hours prior,” he told her as he took a chair to her right. He eyed her, wondered what was behind her sudden five-star restaurant urge. “Just fix something like beef bourguignon or pot roast.” He liked her boeuf bourguignon, even if he refused to pronounce it the French way as she did.

She rolled her lip between her teeth and chewed it a moment.

It occurred to him that she was compensating for something, or she was feeling insecure. Riah often cooked mass quantities when she was nervous or under stress. There were mornings when he woke up alone and went down to a bakery’s worth of things she’d made during the night when she’d been unable to sleep. It made breakfast more interesting, but he did gently suggest she could simply wake him up when she couldn’t sleep.

She ran her hands into her loose hair and closed her eyes. “I think I’m channeling Mum.”

“Please don’t,” he said with no inflection. When she opened her eyes, he grinned at her. “I’d rather not have the inevitable argument when your mother makes an appearance.”

“She does these dinners,” Riah told him. “They’re famous. People fight to get invited, but she’s very selective about who gets to attend.” She shrugged. “I’ve actually never done this, cooked for more than family—other than when I worked in restaurants.” She sighed, rubbed her eyes. “I think I just freaked out a little.”

He stood, pulled her to her feet and against him. “It’s just dinner, Riah, and as far as Ellie and Bartowski are concerned, it probably is just family. There’s no need to impress.”

It wasn’t hard to persuade her to come back to bed, and on Sunday, she served a scaled back version of the prime rib meal. She kept the roast, perfectly medium-rare, and the parsnips mashed with potatoes and garlic and the asparagus, the salad, and the six-layer chocolate fudge torte.

To his surprise, Casey actually enjoyed the evening—until dessert. Because of Ellie and her fiancé, there was no shop talk, which was a novelty for Casey. He tried to remember the last time he’d engaged in an entire night of nothing but normal conversation—if he could call talk that included possible honeymoon destinations and the apparent dictatorial authoritarianism of Woodcomb’s mother normal.

He commiserated with Ellie and earned a hard stare from Riah by assuring Ellie that Honey Woodcomb had nothing on Riah’s mother. Though he was careful not to name her and potentially expose who Riah really was, he did tell a couple of his better Ariel stories.

As he closed the door behind Ellie, her fiancé, and her brother, Casey felt good, knew Ellie was reassured, though he half expected Riah to lay into him. She crossed her arms and asked, “Did my mother really call the cops and insist you were a peeping tom?”

He’d been walking the perimeter of the home she shared with MacKenzie in one of Chicago’s more affluent suburbs after Ariel swore she heard a prowler. When the cops arrived, he remembered, he’d only then realized he had stupidly left his badge and ID inside. Casey put his hands on Riah’s hips and pulled her close. “Ask Emma, if you don’t believe me,” he assured her. “She had to vouch for me, though since she was only six, they really didn’t want to take her word for it.”

Her hands ran over his chest to his shoulders. “You’re lucky Emma did vouch for you. At six, she was insufferably contrary.”

“Probably explains why she did, then,” he told her.

 

When Beckman told him Watson had failed to incriminate himself, Casey knew what was coming. He listened as she explained Riah would accompany General Patterson to a political fundraising reception for a senator. Watson, who had served on the senator’s staff before entering the Corps, would attend as well.

Casey would pull van duty.

He started to argue, but she told him it was non-negotiable—unless he preferred to stay home and let Walker and the asset do the job. He didn’t prefer, so if he couldn’t go in with Riah, he intended to be where he could act if she needed him. Keeping in mind what Riah had told him following the mess with Laurance, he told Beckman Riah would have to tell her father the plan. Beckman nodded.

It didn’t take Riah long to make the call, based on how quickly V. H. called Casey. He was on the Buy More sales floor when his cell rang.

“You left my daughter where a rapist could find her,” Adderly ground out.

Casey would have sighed his frustration, but that would give the man further grounds to torment him. “I did no such thing.”

“That’s not what Mariah says,” V. H. said.

Walking to the back of the store, Casey looked around to see if there was anyone near enough to overhear him. He was just irritated enough to take what could prove to be an ill-advised dig: “Last I heard, you thought I was the rapist.”

There was a snort on the other end of the line. “Be thankful she’s well beyond the age of consent, Casey.”

He considered telling the other man he most certainly was. That, however, would only lead to yet another discussion of how Casey molested V. H.’s daughter, and he wasn’t interested in having that discussion again. Why V. H. insisted on labeling sex with Mariah as molestation Casey wasn’t sure, but the more he protested, the more V. H. did so. “So you’re finally acknowledging that she had the good sense to choose me?”

“I can’t say good sense factored into this at all, Casey,” the other man said, “but certainly she chose you. I’m assuming some sort of coercion was involved.”

Casey snorted. “Is this conversation going anywhere?” Much as he enjoyed baiting Riah’s father, he had work to do, and one of the Buy Morons could turn up at any second.

“Diane tells me she intends to use Mariah as bait.”

That was the one part of his boss’s plan that gave Casey pause. For whatever reason, Watson had gone after Riah. Casey found that infuriating, especially since they had carefully designed the sting at the ball. How it had gone wrong, he wasn’t sure.

“Not so much bait,” Casey told him, “as trap.”

The silence from V. H.’s end was oppressive. “You’re clearly a city-boy, Casey,” he finally said. “You have to bait traps. That makes my daughter bait.”

“Your daughter isn’t bait,” Casey growled. “She took him out once already—gave him a shiner and a mild concussion.” He let that sink in. Then he added, “And you’re the city-boy. Don’t think I don’t remember you’re from Scarborough.”

There was an oppressive silence. “I don’t want Mariah put in unreasonable jeopardy.”

Casey whole-heartedly agreed. He’d tried to convince Riah to turn down the assignment from the moment he realized what she would be asked to do. Walker or someone else could substitute. It wasn’t her job, really, and it had the potential to backfire. He knew what her father would do if it went wrong, and Casey didn’t want to be the one to sacrifice her to get the man they were after. “I don’t, either,” he admitted at last.

The silence stretched once more. “Then why use her this way?”

“Because the suspect chose her—her, not the most logical target based on the pattern.” After he admitted that, he realized how stupid it sounded.

“She’s fragile,” her father said.

“She’s stronger than you realize.” That gave him pause. Why had he said that? She had dispatched Watson pretty damn efficiently, but despite Dreyfus’s assessment and her recent strength, Casey knew she could still fall apart if the danger was threatening enough. He just hoped she really could get the job done without getting herself killed—or worse. Casey didn’t think she could survive worse.

V. H. grunted; Casey nearly joined him. After a second, Riah’s father said, “I trust you to keep her safe. Just don’t make me regret that trust.”

Casey assured him it wasn’t misplaced. After they had each disconnected, he wondered if he could make good on that.

 

Riah chose a dress that looked like something from the movie _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_. She wasn’t willowy and tall like Audrey Hepburn, but that black, sleeveless sheath of a dress clung in too many of the right places, and whatever she wore underneath it pushed her breasts up in such a way she looked like she might pour out of the top. The deeply scooped neckline and the ruby and diamond pendant that drew the eye to her cleavage made him salivate, which meant it would likely make the night’s target salivate.

He didn’t like that at all.

To make matters worse, Paul Patterson would escort her that evening, and she was definitely going to make the General drool.

The older man arrived promptly, something else that pissed Casey off since he was fairly certain his former commander had a personal interest in Riah. Casey nearly didn’t let her leave with the other man when the General leaned down and kissed Riah’s mouth briefly. Casey stopped mid-growl when he realized he was making a sound of protest. Riah had given him an apprehensive look; the General had merely been amused. Perhaps that was why when he kissed Riah himself before letting her walk out of their apartment with the other man, he had kissed her as they had been taught in seduction school. When he lifted his head, Riah had that look he was used to seeing on her face in bed—usually after he had loved her. There was a primitive part of him that especially liked that reaction.

 

Casey hated van duty. It was a necessary part of the job, but he hated it. The sensation of being caged, the waiting, the watching, made him restless, but he didn’t let it show. One thing his training had done for him was teach him how to wait. It didn’t help him like it, but it helped him do it. He would far prefer to be inside the ballroom where Riah and the General worked the crowd. It occurred to him that he seemed to spend a lot of time these days in the van or some other surveillance unit.

As he watched Watson watch Riah, though, Casey once again questioned whether he should have let her do this. He could have talked General Beckman out of it, Patterson, too, but Riah had been determined to follow through with this. Given how Watson had broken his pattern, it was hard to argue with her, and Casey simply hoped the man would move on to a different target since he’d failed with Riah. She, though, was convinced Watson wouldn’t like that she got away, which would make her the perfect victim. It was logical, though Casey wasn’t sure anything Watson had done involved logic in any form. As the man circled Riah and Paul Patterson again, Casey weighed thresholds for halting the operation if necessary.

At least she stayed with the General, though that was a particular form of hell for Casey. He would definitely rather be the man escorting her, the man touching her, the man at whom she smiled happily and with whom she shamelessly flirted. He felt the urge to punch his former commander as the man flirted shamelessly right back at her. Casey glowered at the monitor, and even Walker tried to ignore him and his sour mood.

Bartowski, of course, was simply convinced he loved Riah. That was a good thing, though Casey couldn’t help thinking that perhaps he really should put some distance between himself and Riah if watching her with another man was ruining his calm this way. Chuck’s happy chatter nearly had him admitting that Riah was simply his cover girlfriend, but that impulse drew Casey up short.

It wasn’t that surprising that after this long he might begin to confuse the cover for reality. It wasn’t like it didn’t happen from time to time, but it had never happened to him. It was one of the reasons they tried to keep missions like this short and sweet. Romantic entanglements between agents were an occupational hazard, and in his and Riah’s case, there were more hazards than usual.

He cursed V. H. once more, cursed the man for sending his daughter to him, cursed him for thinking their friendship would protect Riah. If ISI had sent anyone else, he was convinced things would have turned out differently. He watched Riah stand beside Paul Patterson, watched her smile up at him when the General slipped a hand into the small of her back, and he felt again the desire to enter the ballroom and take her from the man.

When this was over, he’d tell Adderly to send her to the Institute early for her pending mandatory training so Casey could then get some distance, gain some perspective. When she came back, he’d have these impulses under control.

Walker kept giving him odd looks, and he finally figured out it was the pissed off growls emanating from him that caused her to shoot those looks his way. He didn’t like this, didn’t like it at all. Riah was his, but there she was, held against Paul Patterson’s side, looking for all the world as if she’d go home with the General that night. She was his, not Watson’s, not Patterson’s. No one else had a right to her.

Watson made his first approach half an hour later. Bartowski was already bored and playing some electronic game—Casey had stopped keeping up with whatever game system the younger man indulged in—and he backhanded the asset’s arm and grunted, “Anything?”

Chuck went into full-flash when he spied Watson’s face. Casey waited impatiently for the inevitable info dump. When Bartowski spewed, Casey tossed his earphones on the console and checked his weapon. Walker asked what he was doing, and he told her—succinctly. “Riah’s in danger. I’m going in.”

As he fitted an earpiece, Casey considered Bartowski’s data dump. Watson had been in the Intersect, and it wasn’t pretty. Casey wondered why in hell he hadn’t been able to find this information when he dug into Watson’s background. The man had links to Fulcrum, according to Bartowski, and Casey’s odds-on favorite theory was that the other man thought she was the Intersect. That meant she was in more danger than he trusted Patterson to protect her from.

Though, truthfully, it was the rest of the information Bartowski spit out that had Casey mentally preparing a proposal to reorganize intelligence gathering and made him do what he was about to do. He was not leaving Riah exposed to that.

Chuck eyed him. “What?” Casey barked.

“Nothing,” the asset said. Casey’s eyes narrowed, considered what might be going on in Chuck’s noggin, because he was dead certain something was—something he wasn’t going to like.

He turned to Walker. They exchanged nods, and Casey popped the van door and stepped out, jerked the door closed behind him. He strode inside, and once he was in the ballroom, he looked for Riah. She was talking to Watson, but she didn’t look happy. Through his earpiece, it was simply social chatter, but something made her look like she wanted to escape. He didn’t stop to talk to anyone; he stalked over to where they stood. Casey saw the man was going to refuse to leave Riah with him. Casey couldn’t say that made him sorry. Watson, though, must have seen something in his face, for he relinquished Riah easily.

She frowned as Casey walked her away from the Captain. “John—“ she began. By then they had reached a darkened corner, so he cut her off with his mouth.

Riah tasted of bourbon. She kissed him back while Casey wished he could simply take her home. He supposed he could tell her he had a thing for Audrey Hepburn. She might believe it, but she wouldn’t believe it explained his decision to come inside.

The look she gave him when he lifted his head told him she wanted to ask why though she didn’t. Instead, she smiled widely at him, so he lowered his mouth to hers once more. He might have just blown the evening’s mission, but he didn’t much care. If questioned, he would claim that what Chuck told him concerned him enough to make him decide she needed more protection. “You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, leaning into him in such a way that it was obvious she didn’t mind in the least.

Instead of answering, Casey kissed her once more. If he was a little more thorough than he ought to be in the circumstances, he didn’t much care. Riah wore that perfume he liked, the one with the gardenias and spice, the one that made him think about finding a convenient broom closet—if no other room was available—and tracing the scent on her skin with his mouth if not his nose. Maybe both. His hands might enjoy the search as well.

Her hands, meanwhile, were far from idle. She stroked over his chest to his shoulder. The other ran around his neck to the back of his head, and he didn’t resist the faint pressure there where she had run the fingers of her right hand into his hair. Her lips parted under his as Casey tugged her closer to his body. _Fuck Watson_ , he thought. Riah was his, only his, and he wasn’t sharing—not even to trap a rapist. Especially not to trap a vicious, murderous rapist.

“I believe that’s my date, Major.” Paul Patterson’s voice cut in on Casey’s thoughts about what Riah might or might not be wearing beneath that black, beaded dress.

“My girlfriend,” he returned gruffly.

“You’re not supposed to be here, John,” the other man chided.

Riah’s heavy-lidded look told Casey all he needed to know. “I think Riah should come with me,” he said.

She slowly released him then. “John,” she said softly, “he’s right.”

Casey didn’t like her apparent defection. “Riah,” he said with a rough note in his voice. He wasn’t willing to risk her to what Chuck had told him, but the look she gave him said he might have to. She was, after all, nearly as stubborn as he.

“John,” she said and leaned into him. “Go away.”

Patterson reached for her. This time Casey let his former commander draw her away. “John, Watson’s going to make his move soon.”

He was torn: duty or Riah’s safety. He leaned toward the second, especially since he’d failed her once before, had nearly let Kellett kill her. He realized just how compromised that made him. He thought he could justify the unwarranted interference through her father’s insistence that she not be put at undue risk. Riah gently removed the General’s hand from her arm and said something softly to him that Casey couldn’t quite catch. Whatever it was, the other man shrugged and walked away. Casey was left standing in front of her.

“You have to go,” she said softly. “He’s unlikely to approach me with you here.”

Casey knew how true that was, but it didn’t make him feel any more inclined to do as she said. “Riah, you’re in danger, and you are _not_ going to do this.”

He hadn’t meant to put it anywhere near that bluntly, but he didn’t regret it. She gave him a look that made him feel like twenty kinds of idiot. Of course she knew Watson was dangerous. She was the one who had told him about the man in the first place. “John, it’s part of the job.” She ran her hands up his chest, smoothed the lapels of his suit. “It’s what we do so no one else has to.” She reached up and kissed him. “Better me than some other woman,” she whispered. Riah kissed him once more, and there was a promise there, one Casey had an urge to exploit even as he wanted to contradict her. Before he could, she stepped away from him. “Now go away.” Then she said distinctly, “Agent Walker, restrain him if you have to.”

He started after her, furious, but she had turned and walked back to General Patterson. Walker was in his ear: “Well?”

Casey fumed, refused to answer. He was not going back to the van, and just as he was about to tell Walker so, he watched as Patterson bent to ask Riah, “Everything okay?” She gave the other man a slight smile and a nod, and then the General stepped away, headed toward the bar. Casey kept his eyes on Riah. Within seconds, Watson had sidled up to her once more.

When he approached her before, Watson had kept the conversation on social pleasantries. This time was different. “So which one is it?” he asked Riah, “Major Casey or General Patterson?”

“I beg your pardon?” Casey recognized a dead-on impression of Ariel when she decided to be coldly polite.

“Or do you sleep with both of them?” Watson asked. Casey didn’t like the man’s tone, let alone the accusation, and he almost went out to pound him to the pulp he deserved to be.

Riah continued to channel her mother. “I fail to see that that’s any of your business, Captain.”

“I like to know who the competition is.”

He watched Riah step back from Watson, which gave Casey a brief moment of satisfaction. “You have no competition,” Riah said, “primarily because you aren’t in the race.”

Casey initially thought she should have been a bit more friendly, but then rape was about violence and violation. She wouldn’t be an attractive target if she was willing.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Riah added. Casey forced himself to remain still when Watson grabbed her by the arm as she began to move away. The bruises the captain had left on her the month before had taken a while to fade. Casey decided to make sure he was the one who took Watson down, and he’d take him down as hard as he possibly could.

“No, I won’t excuse you,” Watson told her. “You gave me a black eye and a concussion.”

Riah stiffened. “I don’t take kindly to men who assault me.”

Watson jerked her closer. “I didn’t assault you . . . yet.”

Casey could hear the choked breath Riah sucked in. “And you won’t,” she replied. He could hear what sounded like genuine fear under her bravado. She tried to remove the captain’s hand from her arm, but Watson clamped harder. Even from where Casey stood across the room, he could see the other man’s fingers dig into her flesh.

“You won’t have the freedom of movement in that dress that you did in the other,” Watson told her. “I think I can take the risk. Can you?”

Casey’s eyes dropped to the skirt of Riah’s dress. It was form-fitting with no slits other than the one in back that barely reached her knees. What she had worn that other night had full skirts that gave her some room to move. Watson was right—unless she chose to ruin the dress.

“May I ask a question?” Riah’s voice sounded more normal. Watson nodded. “Would you find me attractive were it not for John’s—or Paul’s—interest?”

The Captain gave a snorting laugh. “Who said I find you attractive?”

That sent a chill down Casey’s spine. Riah paled.

Watson made a disappointed sound. “Look at that,” he said. “The General’s busy, and he sent the Major away.” The man leaned closer to her. “Who’ll save you when you can’t save yourself?”

Riah sucked in a deep breath. “Who says I can’t save myself? I managed before.”

The Captain laughed, an unpleasant sound. He dragged Riah toward the ballroom doors. Casey paused so as to not draw Watson’s attention.

“Walker, he’s making his move,” Casey said quietly, moved only when Watson turned his back fully on the corner where he still stood. His partner told him she had them, that Watson was taking Riah to an elevator. Casey motioned for one of the agents Beckman had planted and wondered if Watson had learned nothing. Riah had freely admitted that the confined space of the elevator car had helped her disable him before.

“Floor?” he asked as he raced for the elevator bank, watched the doors close. He sent the other agent to the stairs.

“Twelfth,” Walker told him. “I’m leaving Chuck here and coming in.”

Casey pushed a couple out of the way to take the open elevator, prevented them from following him inside by holding out his badge and curtly telling them it was government business before he told Walker, “Stay where you are.” He punched the button for twelve.

He heard Chuck in his ear next: “He’s in room 1225.” The kid had obviously hacked the hotel registration system. Casey didn’t tell him he already knew that. He’d only asked Walker for the floor in case Watson had another room he intended to use.

“They’ve arrived,” Walker said, and Casey eyed the panel to the right of the elevator doors. He’d heard nothing through Riah’s wire, and that worried him. Either Watson was being quiet—and he figured Riah would talk if for no other reason than to let him know she was still alright—or the other man had done something to her already or taken the wire. There was surveillance in Watson’s room, but Walker would be blind until the captain and Riah got there.

As a result, Casey stepped right out of the elevator when the doors opened, and he quickly checked the hall both ways. Seeing no one, he headed rapidly toward the room. He kept his eyes on the door plaques that numbered the rooms. He didn’t think Watson would waste any time, so Casey picked up the pace, unwilling to have to tell Adderly he’d failed to keep Riah safe, unwilling to accept that he had failed her if it came to that. It didn’t help to hear Walker’s useless, “Casey, hurry.”

He reached the door, paused, and breathed in deeply before breaking it in. Casey had no order to kill Watson, which was the only thing that kept him from doing what he’d done to Larkin at the beginning of his assignment with the Intersect: shoot first and order him to not move second. When he saw Riah flung across the bed, though, the bodice of her dress torn, he almost went with his instinct to kill the other man.

For his part, Watson grinned. Casey’s trigger finger twitched, and he barely kept it from squeezing the trigger enough to blast the grin off the man’s face. “Step away from her,” he said coldly. Riah made a sound, but Casey didn’t spare her a glance, kept his eyes glued to Watson. He knew any distraction could be fatal, so he stayed locked on the other man. If anyone was going to die here, Casey intended to make sure it was Watson.

The Captain wiped the smile off his face. “You really don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into here.”

Casey kept his cold mask in place, resisted looking at Riah. “Actually, Watson, you’re the one in the dark here. You’ve been a bad boy, and I’m your punishment.”

Watson eyed him. “Your girlfriend’s the one who’s been bad, Casey,” he said. “Pity you don’t know who you’re fucking.”

Casey really wished the bad guys would stop using that tired taunt. Watson wasn’t the first one who had decided to tell him he didn’t know Riah and what she was up to. He didn’t dignify Watson’s comment, simply continued to stare intently at the man and hold his weapon steady. Like a thousand bad guys before him, the idiot couldn’t keep his mouth shut, so Casey’s silence paid off.

“I never would have thought you’d fall for a pretty face,” the man continued, “though I plan to make it considerably less pretty before I’m finished with her.” He lowered his hands. “Like all women, she’s a whore, pure and simple, and there’s only one way to deal with a whore.”

Fury spiked through him, coursed through his veins, but Casey pushed it down, continued to watch Watson and train his weapon on him. He wouldn’t engage, he told himself, wouldn’t give Watson an opening. According to Bartowski, the man not only worked for Fulcrum but was believed to be responsible for a series of murders that made Jack the Ripper look downright benevolent. Looking at the asshole, he considered putting him down a favor to humanity.

For the most part, Watson apparently only killed women he was paid to kill—the two officers had been exceptions. Casey wondered who had paid the fee for Riah. Watson grinned like the maniac he was. “Okay, we can do this the hard way,” he told Casey. “Your whore got down to business last time, which is why I didn’t waste any time this go around.” He shrugged. “They’re less fun this way, but it seemed prudent.”

The bullet hit Watson in the knee, where it would drop him but not kill him. Casey was tired of being lectured to over killing bastards like Watson. When he was down, Casey followed up with a chest wound that would do enough damage to keep the man from moving much but not kill him outright. When the Captain was still but far from quiet, the other agent finally turned up. Casey told him to search Watson. Casey knelt on the bed beside Riah. She was out cold, which he decided was a small mercy.

Walker and Bartowski stormed through the door. He let Walker deal with the cleanup while he smoothed Riah’s torn bodice over her chest, hiding the black corset thing that hiked up her breasts. He felt for a pulse, watched her, and then rummaged in his pocket for the phone that buzzed there. Patterson was on the other end, and Casey curtly told him they had Watson then provided the room number when the General asked.

A medic entered. The man had been standing by, and Casey watched the man check Riah before he began searching the room for whatever Watson had given her. The other agent found a slim aerosol canister in one of Watson’s pockets. Casey took it, realized the asshole had used a knockout spray, probably as soon as the elevator doors closed. The medic found an empty syringe in the trash and a vial of a well-known sedative. The agent finished his search of Watson’s pockets, but he found no poisons or other drugs. After the medic checked the syringe, Casey was assured she’d be fine when she woke up. He thanked the man.

The cleaners arrived about the same time Patterson did. “Your pretty little girl okay?” Patterson asked as he watched them lift Watson onto a gurney. Casey was glad to see that they didn’t bother being even remotely gentle. He gave Patterson an affirmative nod.

When they removed Watson, Walker took Bartowski and told Casey they’d meet him at Castle. He shed his jacket, lifted Riah to wrap it around her. Paul Patterson watched. “So what happened?”

“He dragged her out and drugged her,” Casey said tersely.

“I want him,” Patterson said. “He’s going before a court-martial for the rapes and murders.”

“You’ll have to get in line,” Casey told him.

Patterson snorted. “National security.”

“Dark hole, no exit—and he’s going to tell us about his other bosses,” Casey promised.

He gathered Riah up to carry her down. Patterson went with them, and in the elevator, he asked Casey, “Would you like me to take her home, keep an eye on her, while you’re debriefed?”

Casey shook his head.

 

At Castle, he put Riah in one of the bunks before joining Walker and Bartowski. Watson, Walker told him, was in a hospital prison unit. Casey wished they’d skipped the hospital part. It didn’t take them long to report, and he was grimly amused that Beckman failed to reprimand him for shooting Watson. He let Walker and Bartowski go, and then he called Adderly.

“She’s fine,” he told her father before the man could start.

“Then where is she?”

Under other circumstances, Casey might have taken the opportunity yawning before him. Instead, he told V. H., “She’s sleeping off the sedative Watson gave her.” He ran through the evening’s events for the other man. “I’ll have her call you tomorrow,” Casey finished.

“See that you do,” V. H. said before he hung up.

Instead of moving her again, Casey decided to leave her where she was. He took his suit jacket from her, hung it up. He slipped her shoes off and then removed her necklace and the matching earrings before he unzipped her ruined dress and slid it off her. The leather corset thing underneath molded her from her breasts to the tops of her thighs. Her breasts were clearly visible though the black lace cups. He considered leaving it on her until she could enjoy letting him remove it, but it didn’t look particularly comfortable, so he undid whatever the silver things were that held it closed in front—they weren’t snaps, nor were they hooks and eyes, exactly. They looked a little like shirt studs gone wrong. He found a clean t-shirt in his locker and put it on her before he removed her stockings and put her beneath the sheet and blanket. He returned to his locker, found a pair of sweat pants and another t-shirt, changed, and considered whether the narrow cot would hold both of them. In the end, he pushed a second cot next to hers.

In the morning, he thought, he’d have to have Walker go get her some clothes.

 

Other than the bruises on her arm, Riah was none the worse for wear when the sedative wore off. She was nauseous, though, told him certain sedatives tended to do that to her. She rolled over, put her head on his shoulder, and asked what happened to Watson. When he told her he’d shot him, she kissed him thoroughly. “Good.”

Casey considered shooting him again just to see how she might reward him.

He ran a hand over her waist. “What happened after you left the ballroom?”

She shuddered, moved a little closer to him. “The second the elevator doors closed, he sprayed something in my face.” Riah shrugged. “I really don’t remember anything after that.”

He held her, considered carefully what he wanted to say. In the end, Casey should have held his peace or considered different words: “You’re never doing that again.”

Riah pushed back so she could see his face. “Of course I am,” she said, and he heard a slightly angry note underneath. “Not exactly that, maybe, but it’s my job, John.”

“You could have been killed,” he said tersely, and he watched her eyes sharpen.

“As I told my mother once, I could be killed walking to my car. For that matter, I could be killed getting the mail, shopping, or even eating.”

All of those were true, he knew, but it didn’t change how he felt. “Alright, you could be murdered.” Before she could respond, he reminded her, “Watson had rape in mind before he killed you, Riah. You are not taking that kind of risk ever again.”

Her jaw was tightly clenched, and her eyes sparked. “You and I both know I will, John,” she said. While she tried a conciliatory tone, it just didn’t come out that way. “Women face greater risk in this work, true,” she conceded tightly, “but that’s no reason to simply fold, take a nice, safe desk job.”

He began to have a lot of sympathy for her father’s point of view in that moment. V. H. wanted her safe, and so did Casey. He wasn’t always going to be there to make sure she survived, and he wasn’t stupid enough to believe he’d always be able to save her if he was there. “ _You_ don’t have to do this.”

“I’ll remind you of that when it’s your turn,” she bit out. She slapped her hand against his chest before he could tell her not to be a moron. “One of these days, John,” she said between her teeth, “you’ll come home, back from an assignment or a deployment, shot to hell, and I reserve the right to tell you that _you_ don’t have to do this.”

Casey was about to tell her he did have to do it, but he stopped cold. He felt something strange as he returned her angry look.

He didn’t come home to her—he came home. Period. This wasn’t permanent. It couldn’t be permanent. Permanent didn’t work in their world.

Hell, home wasn’t even in Los Angeles.

This was a job. She was an assignment, and he needed to remember that.

Something shifted in her face. Riah paled, pushed against him, slid off her cot and rushed away.

Casey should go after her, he knew. Instead, he lay there and thought about all the many reasons he should never talk to women.

 

By the time Walker turned up with breakfast and clean clothes for Riah, the two of them sat at opposite ends of the conference table doing their best to ignore one another. Casey wrote his report and answered e-mail. Riah, after calling her father and reassuring him she was none the worse for wear, did the same using her BlackBerry. He could have offered her a laptop, but that would entail talking to her.

She disappeared to shower and get dressed after eating the breakfast sandwich his partner brought.

Walker slid into a chair but did nothing except watch him. Casey finally looked up. “You two seemed a little tense.”

Casey grunted, had no intention of discussing this with Walker, especially when she seemed determined to channel Bartowski.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” he told her, though it irritated him to say even that much. Still, despite the fact Walker was almost as bad about prying as Bartowski sometimes, she often stood down with less information.

Walker eyed him speculatively. “You fought.”

Casey’s jaw went rigid before he dropped his eyes to his laptop.

“A little advice, Major.”

He gave her a hard look. Given the state of Walker’s personal life, he wasn’t sure what advice she could offer that would be worth the effort.

“Never tell a woman with the training to kill you that she isn’t capable of doing the job.”

For a guess, it was a damned good one—unless she’d run the surveillance feeds before coming downstairs. Then he remembered what he’d told Riah before she left him in the dark corner of the ballroom. “I didn’t say she wasn’t capable.”

_And that’s another reason I should never talk to women_ , he thought, as amusement slid into Walker’s eyes. It irritated him that he had essentially confirmed the gist of what she said.

“You implied it,” she told him. She leaned forward, crossed her arms on the cold, steel table. “Or did you say something worse to her this morning?”

Casey attempted deflection by asking if she’d checked on Watson. It didn’t matter what Walker answered since he’d already done so, but it got her off his personal life.

 

He spent most of the day wondering if the silent treatment would hold when he and Riah went home. By the end of the day, he was irritated to realize he really had questioned her ability. Objectively, she didn’t have the best track record, but she had undeniable skills. Watson had cheated, true, but she had taken the man down once. There was a good chance she could have done so a second time—if the captain had played fairly.

As a result, he had apologizing to do.

Most people thought he never did. It wasn’t true, but it was true he didn’t do it well. He wasn’t often all that sincere when he had to do it, but this time he needed to be sincere. It didn’t help that a florist delivered pink roses to Riah in the early afternoon. Casey was certain they’d come from Paul Patterson when that amused little smile curled her lips as she read the card.

Long after she went back upstairs, he snagged it, read the message: _I’m pleased you’re fine. Thank you for what you did_. He gritted his teeth over the next line, felt the card crumple as he tried to find his calm: _Ditch young John and run away with me_.

“I won’t, you know,” he heard her say.

She stood on the landing when he shot a look at her. He watched her come slowly down the stairs. She smiled slightly and tugged the card from his fingers. She read it again, and then she met his eyes. “I suspect he knew you’d read that.”

“He likes you,” he said gruffly.

“And I like him.” She returned his gaze. “I do my job, John, just as you do yours. You know as well as I do that as long as it is my job, I’ll do what’s asked of me. Neither you nor my father get to decide where the lines of duty are.”

He nearly retorted that as the director general, her father certainly did get to determine the boundaries of her job, but since she was giving him an out of sorts, he remained silent. Riah rewarded him by rising up to kiss him. He slid his arms around her, and then, purely in the interests of maintaining friendly relations, he gave her a soft, “Understood.”

It was gratifying that she recognized the _I’m sorry_ he really meant before she pulled him down for a more thorough kiss. Casey momentarily weighed the merits of the couch or the bedroom for the make-up sex he was pretty sure she was about to give him. As her kiss shifted, though, he revised that. Her hands worked at his clothes. She apparently was more dexterous than he since she was making better progress than he.

A thought occurred to him.

“If you’re going to drive,” Casey growled in her ear, “put that black thing you were wearing last night back on.” As an added incentive, he ran a hand under her shirt hem and down inside the waistband of her jeans.

Her breath caught next to his ear. She breathed, “Your t-shirt?”

Casey couldn’t stop the amused snort. He undid the button of her jeans. “Yeah, because you swimming in cotton is all kinds of sexy,” he deadpanned with a sarcastic edge before he caught her mouth.

“Oh,” Riah moaned as he broke the kiss and his fingers found her. “You mean the Gaultier.”

Casey chose to deliberately misunderstand her. “Not interested in goats,” he told her, running one of his hands up to cup her breast, “but that black leather with the scraps of lace is certainly inspiring.”

Riah slid her hands slowly off him and stepped back. He let her go. Her smile was his only warning. “I bought the leather and lace panties that go with it.”

She hadn’t been wearing those the night before. He knew she’d only worn black lace. “What do those look like?” Casey asked, and he realized he sounded like he’d run ten miles flat-out.

Her smile was pure invitation. “Come find out.” She headed back toward the stairs, looked over her shoulder. “Maybe you should give me a few minutes.”

“One,” he agreed. One of her brows shot up. “Two maximum.”

_Delayed gratification_ , he reminded himself, pictured that corset and wondered where she got it. He’d paid a visit to La Perla, intent on replacing the panties he’d destroyed the afternoon they had sex in one of Castle’s holding cells. While he’d seen a number of bustiers and things similar to what she’d worn the night before, he hadn’t seen that. He shot a look at his watch, decided to split the difference at a minute and a half.

When he stepped inside their bedroom, she looked like she couldn’t decide whether to cover herself or run. “Just don’t expect whips and chains,” she said. The combination of that suggestion and the sight of her in that corset above what she had claimed were panties had him considering a number of possibilities. Fortunately, he checked the impulse to tell her he could supply the chains when he caught the edge of nervous fear on her face.

_Edmonton_ , he thought. Whips and chains had been involved there, and not in a pleasant way. He wondered that she had the starch to even make that crack.

Casey walked toward her, slid his hands over the leather encasing her waist. It looked sleekly smooth. There was a faintly pebbled texture to it, and it was surprisingly cool under his fingers. He liked the way it looked on her, the way it pushed her breasts up and drew attention to the curve of hip despite covering most of that curve. He slid one of his hands up and over the lace that skimmed her breasts. “Where do you buy this stuff?” he asked. He hadn’t meant to ask that out loud.

She went a becoming deep pink. “There’s a place.” Her breath hitched as he turned her a bit more, leaned her back into his chest, “Rodeo Drive.”

“La Perla,” Casey said softly next to her ear before he pressed his mouth below it. He licked at her skin, then bit very gently down. Her head fell back against him. Riah nodded, and Casey couldn’t resist asking, “Have you always worn obscene underwear?” He nipped his way down her throat while he waited for her answer.

His hands slid down, found the thin strip of skin between the bottom of the corset and the top of the matching panties. His fingers slipped inside, noticed the material barely covered the first phalanges of his fingers before he found her sleek folds.

“No,” she breathed, and that breath hitched before she shuddered as Casey slid one long finger further, slipped it inside her.

“Take me shopping with you,” he said against her shoulder.

That made her laugh, but it ended in a moan as he moved his finger and stroked his other hand back up to her breast. “Beautiful,” he murmured against her cheek, “so beautiful.”

To his surprise, she went rigid at his words. Casey was about to ask her what was wrong when he felt the tension leave her. She turned her head and met his mouth. He kissed over her cheek toward her ear, pushed her ponytail over her shoulder, then kissed around to her nape. She moaned. He’d discovered some time ago what his mouth on that part of her did to her, but he rarely exploited it.

Turning her again so that her right side was toward him, Casey let one hand toy with one of the front closures while the other fingered the knotted bow at her bottom. “Which way should I open it?” he asked, his mouth once more on her skin. When he had kissed to the ball of her shoulder, he made a deep, soft sort of growl and added, “Faster to open the front,” his teeth grazed her shoulder, “but might be more fun to unlace you.”

Her breathing shallowed as Casey kissed down her arm. He knelt and opened his mouth on the spot just below her hip where the leather ended. He dropped his hand from her stomach to her ankle and lightly traced the round of bone on its inside before he lightly ran his fingers up the inside of her leg. It trembled a second beneath his touch, and her hand slid into his hair. He kissed along the lower edge of the leather strap that held her panties in place.

“I hate to break it to you,” he said softly against her skin, “but these don’t exactly qualify as panties.”

“They don’t?” Riah breathed as his fingers stroked over the scrap of lace that covered her.

“No,” he said and curled his fingers inside the top of them. “Riah, they don’t even really cover you.”

She sucked in a breath that didn’t sound as though it drew as deeply as it needed to. “That’s why I didn’t wear them.”

He turned her again, his hand still tangled in the laces in the back. Casey kissed along the line of the not-panties while his free hand stroked toward her opposite hip. He pushed his fingers under the waistband and then over her bottom and down her legs. The panties dropped to her ankles, and Casey’s tongue ran over her exposed flesh.

After Casey raised one of Riah’s feet and then the other to remove them completely, he slid up her body to kiss her breathless. “I thought you were driving.”

“I don’t think I have a license for this,” she breathed.

His fingers sorted through the corset’s laces, learned the knot and untangled it while he considered his reply. “Practice,” he assured her. “You just need a few trial laps.”

“Show me,” Riah whispered.

There were many things he could show her, he thought, but it might be more fun to let her discover them herself. He whispered for her to take his clothes off. Casey continued to kiss her as her hands moved to do so. His fingers slowly drew the ends of her laces free while she unfastened his clothes, but then her hands stalled. He lifted his mouth from hers and studied her. “Not finished,” he told her leaning in to steal her breath.

Her fingers went back to work, pushed fabric from him before Riah began kissing over his exposed skin. Casey’s eyes closed, and his fingers stilled as she licked and nipped at his skin. Her hands glided over him. He considered taking control from her again when her hands hesitated and her mouth stilled. “I’d rather you drove,” she said against his throat, and then she did as he had done, bit gently with her teeth a moment before she traced the bite with her tongue.

One of his hands came around to catch her chin so he could tip her face and plunder her mouth. “Can’t always be a passenger, Riah,” Casey said against her lips.

“Need a learner’s permit,” she breathed.

He snorted. “Intermediate, maybe,” he conceded.

After a moment, Riah whispered, “What do you want me to do?”

There was a kind of license in that question that Casey considered carefully. She was a little skittish, and he didn’t want to make her balk completely. He let his mouth trace down to where the edge of the corset’s lace cups cradled her. “For now, Riah, just touch me.”

Apparently, she found that easy, until his mouth closed over the lace covering her tight nipple. Her hands faltered then, clutched at him. He sucked at her nipple and continued to draw the laces from their holes, but then one stuck. He released her breast and turned her. She’d gone stiff again, and it belatedly occurred to him that when he turned her away from him, she might think he didn’t like what she had been doing. He bent and sucked at her nape. When he felt her relax, Casey murmured, “The only problem with this thing is that it takes too damn long to get it off this way.”

Riah made a kind of strangled giggle at that. “I _knew_ you were impatient unwrapping your presents.”

He grinned against her skin, remembered that morning in Chicago when she had first made that accusation. “And I told you I planned to take my time over unwrapping you.” He hadn’t planned to take this much time, though, so he tugged at the laces again. “The key,” he told her softly, “is delayed gratification.”

“When do I get the gratification part?” she breathed as he skated his knuckles on her exposed spine.

A laugh rumbled out of him. “Later.” The lace cleared the last hole. He put a hand on her stomach to hold the leather in place a moment longer and used the same hand to pull her against him so that her skin warmed his. Then Casey slid the corset away from her body. He nearly amended his answer to now as he looked down at her.  
“Beautiful,” he repeated.

Once again, Riah froze in his arms.

Her breathing rasped, and she pulled against his arms. Casey reflexively tightened them. Then she struggled harder. “Riah?”

She didn’t say a word, simply strained to get away from him while she fought for breath. He let her go, but before Casey could say anything, she hunched, wrapped her arms around her, and panted, “He said that.” Casey stared at her back, at the scars that crossed her flesh. “He said I was beautiful, and he . . . touched me.” The last was said so faintly Casey could barely hear her.

He was about to demand who, but it sank in. The bastard in Edmonton. He’d read the reports, had even been reminded of it when he entered their room.

Her face was pale when she glanced back at him. Her “sorry” was almost too soft to hear.

Looking at her profile, Casey decided he couldn’t let this into their bedroom. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

She blinked. Riah drew a deep breath, studied him, then nodded.

Slowly, Casey reached out, drew her back where she had been and slowly slid his arms around her. He waited for her to relax before he told her, “I won’t hurt you, Riah.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“I know,” she replied. “I just . . . when you said . . . .”

“You are, you know,” he told her, but he didn’t use the word this time. He considered how jumpy she had been when she first moved in, how she did better if she knew what to expect. “You can tell me no,” he told her, “and I’ll respect that.” He waited for her nod. “This is what I want.” He dropped his voice to barely above a whisper. “I want to bend you over the edge of the bed so that you lie on your stomach.” She nodded. They had stayed primarily with positions that had them facing one another, he realized, though it hadn’t been a conscious choice on his part. The closest they had come to this was that morning he’d learned how sensitive the back of her neck was. “I want to take you from behind,” he told her. She tensed a little, but nothing like she had before. “Can you let me do that?”

“I don’t know,” Riah admitted.

He exploited her body’s responses to him, opened his mouth on her nape and slid a hand down her stomach and fingers through the curls that covered her. “If you ask, I’ll stop,” he told her. “All you have to do is ask.” She looked back at him. He met her eyes. “Or say no now,” he offered. “There are other things we can do instead.”

“Okay,” she breathed.

To be absolutely sure, Casey asked, “Okay what?”

They stood facing the bed. Riah asked, “How does this work?”

Casey grinned. He told her what to do. She bent forward, lay down. He moved behind her, pushed her feet a little further apart as he kissed slowly down her spine. Riah was tense at first, but she slowly relaxed as his hands ran over her. When he kissed his way back up her spine, he put a little weight on her as he slid an arm under and around her, lifted her a little. He stroked her with his other hand. When she gasped, he asked, “Ready?”

She nodded, and Casey eased his hand out from under her to run it over her hip before he positioned himself. “You sure?”

“Yes,” she breathed, so Casey slid inside.

Riah moaned as he moved, and he shifted his hips a little. Her back arched. The words tumbling out of her gave Casey one hell of a shock. They didn’t talk a lot during sex, but the suggestions she now made stunned him. She told him what to do in some of the crudest terms he’d ever heard. “I knew you should drive,” he told her as he thrust again and she screamed his name. He was ready to scream hers a moment or so later when she shoved back into him. Casey came harder than he could remember.

He knew he crushed her, knew he should move, but damned if he could. He felt her raise her head and turn it toward him. Her mouth was at his ear. “What other ideas do you have,” Riah breathed before she traced the ridges of his ear with the tip of her tongue.

“None I’ll be able to do anything about for a while,” he told her. “Maybe you could think of something.”

She could, as it turned out, and Casey was more than happy to let her do the thinking—the doing, too.

 

He took her to dinner at the Italian place he’d taken her once before, though this time the circumstances were far happier. While they waited for their food, Casey pulled her closer on the bench to whisper, “The first time I brought you here and you tasted your pasta,” he paused to kiss her throat, “you looked like you do after sex.”

Riah turned her head, met his mouth with a hungry kiss, and Casey wondered if she would be upset if they left without eating.

He was about to ask when a female voice said, “Hello, Johnny. New toy?”


	2. Chapter 2

 

"Hello, Johnny. New toy?”

That hint of a sneer beneath what on the surface appeared to be nothing more than an honest query was all too familiar. Casey sincerely wished he wasn’t really hearing it. He ended the kiss with Riah but not before he pressed a little more fervently against her mouth. This would not go well at all, and he was once more going to have to admit something to Riah he would really rather not. If he was very lucky, she didn’t know, which would buy him time to explain. If he weren’t so lucky, well, he was going to have a lot more explaining to do, and the specter of Riah’s father and what V. H. might contribute to the conversation didn’t bear thinking about.

There was a scrape of a chair, and Casey looked across the table at the redhead wiggling her way into the seat. Pale, sea-colored eyes gave him an amused look. She was well-aware, obviously, what she interrupted. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said, her eyes shifting to Riah. The woman waited for Riah to make the first introduction, he noticed, or, perhaps, she expected him to do the honors.

Riah elected to remain silent while Casey wondered if he had a front row seat to a massive train wreck. Carina Miller could demonstrate the worst of all female attributes in one package and not even lift a single, manicured finger. Riah, he reflected, generally kept her behavior polite and her temper in check, but after the whole Val episode, he wondered if she would make an exception this time. That might depend on whether or not she knew about Prague.

Body armor might not have been a bad idea.

Carina leaned in, folded her arms on the table, but before she could start, the waiter arrived and asked the redhead, “May I bring you a menu?”

Riah cut in before Carina could answer. “She’s not joining us.”

In other circumstances, Casey might have been amused by the steely edge in her voice.

The waiter nodded and left them.

“It does speak,” Carina drawled. She looked over and met Casey’s eyes. She lifted her brows. “Lose her, Johnny. We’ve got business to discuss.”

“Business hours are over,” he said tightly. If the DEA needed him, Beckman would have notified him. In the absence of a call or other orders, he’d assume Carina was simply making trouble. It was, after all, what she did best.

Besides, her go-to partner was usually Walker if they were in the same locale.

“Send ISI packing, Johnny,” Carina bit out. “I really do need to talk to you.”

It was obvious she knew who Riah was, he noted. Casey sat back, shook his head. Carina’s eyes narrowed. Then she turned to Riah.

“This is none of your business, Marla.”

“If you say so,” Riah said coolly before she tacked on, “Karen, I believe?”

That set Carina back, and Casey decided the entertainment might be worth the later pain.

“This one has claws, Johnny,” Carina said tightly. “Well done.” He ground his teeth as her face went as innocent as she could make it, which wasn’t much, before she added the inevitable taunt, “But then you like that.”

He was afraid to look at Riah.

Carina gave a feline smile, the sort that followed swallowing the proverbial canary. “Johnny and I go way back.”

“I know who you are,” Riah told her quietly.

“Is that right?” Carina asked.

Riah’s eyes did a sweep. “Red hair, blue eyes, just under six feet, can’t stay focused on the job, and attitude to spare—Carina Miller, DEA.”

Her tone of voice indicated she was bored, but her words proved inflammatory, and as he looked at her, Casey was pretty certain she’d known they would be. He shouldn’t have been surprised by that, he supposed. He did, though, consider leaning over and asking Riah to let go of the gun holstered in the small of his back. She’d slipped her hand there when Carina first interrupted them. He knew Carina well enough to know she was about to escalate, not that he could necessarily blame her after what Riah had just said, but he’d really rather not have to deal with clean up if Riah shot her, not to mention having to deal with an obviously pissed off and armed woman.

Carina responded in kind. “Blonde, blue-eyed, five-five, can’t do anything right—Mariah Adderly, ISI, if I’m not mistaken.”

Riah’s lips twitched. “I am Mariah,” she returned cheerfully, but Casey could tell that wasn’t how she really felt. It was in the eyes, the tightness of her jawline.

Casey’s suspicions deepened. They had spoken once about what happened between her father and Galina Vian, but she had never said a word about Casey’s parallel situation with Carina. Prague had had a long life, helped along by the photographs and boosted a bit longer by the one Walker had taken the year before. The last photo had had a more limited release, so to speak, but the story went around. He knew the Prague episode had made the rounds of several agencies, not all of which were American. It was entirely possible Riah not only knew the story but had seen the pictures. At least this time he hadn’t known her when that happened, so she couldn’t hold it against him.

Her hand slipped from the butt of his holstered Smith & Wesson. She curved it over his forearm and looked across the table at Carina. Apparently, she’d made whatever point she’d wanted since she reverted to cool politeness. “If you will excuse me a moment, you can talk about whatever it is that brought you here without me.” She looked up at Casey before she slid out of the booth and made her way to the restrooms.

“What?” he barked as soon as Riah was out of earshot.

“Really, Johnny, is that any way to say hello to an old friend?” Carina’s voice was a sexy purr, but it left him cold.

“We’re not friends,” he reminded her.

“I’ve got a job on, and I need you and Sarah.” She leaned across the table to add, “Leave your plaything at home.”

His eyes narrowed, “Official channels, Carina. You know as well as I do that I’m here on assignment—and your job isn’t it.”

“Adderly’s daughter isn’t it, either,” she added. “Still have problems keeping it in your pants around a woman, Casey?”

His teeth ground, but he held his tongue. She knew as well as he did that her accusation was false despite the one slip he had made with her. Well, two, and having to acknowledge that made his temper tick up a couple more notches. He decided he’d engaged all he intended.

“Fine.” She pouted. “I’ll go through General Beckman.” When he remained unmoved, she sat up. “Expect a call.”

As she left, she made sure she bumped Riah hard as she passed her. When Riah slid back into her seat, he met her gaze and waited. She wore a tiny smile.

“What?” he asked without the animosity he’d used when he asked Carina the same thing.

“Nothing,” she said then neatly tried to change the subject.

He gave her a glare he normally used on Bartowski. She held her hand up, and he grinned when she showed him Carina’s ID and badge. She shrugged. “Really,” she said, “if you’re going to bump into someone like that, it’s all too easy to pick your pocket—purse in this case.”

He snatched the ID case from her and stuck it in his jacket pocket. On the one hand, that particular skill could come in handy at some point. On the other, Carina would go ballistic when she realized what Riah had done. He’d get Walker to return it.

Riah was unrepentant. “I nearly took her gun.”

Casey knew he wasn’t off the hook, knew Riah wouldn’t let that go that easily, and as dinner passed with pleasant though meaningless conversation, he felt himself grow more tense, waited for her to start, because he was dead-certain she would. By the time they arrived home, he was ready to confess to just about anything to get it over with.

That just pissed him off.

It especially pissed him off that Riah acted like nothing had happened, as though no one had interrupted their dinner. Only that wasn’t true, he thought, as he brushed his teeth. She’d been a lot more friendly before Carina turned up.

She wore a nightgown when he returned to their bedroom. Given that neither of them slept in clothes, for the most part, that was telling in itself. Then he realized it was a nightgown, not her usual boxers and skimpy shirt, and he wondered what she intended.

It was quite a nightgown. He’d liked the corset, but this was pretty good as well. It was low-cut, skimmed her body closely before it ended just below her hips, and he could see right through the black fabric. God bless her, she wasn’t wearing underwear.

One of her eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t say a word, simply gathered her discarded clothes and walked toward the closet where she pitched them in the hamper. When she finished her task, she walked back to him, stood directly in front of him, and asked, “Is that what you like, John? Tall, skinny, no boobs and big hips?”

He nearly laughed at the description, apt though it was. Figuring he was about to lose a hand, he stretched one out anyway, curved his fingers under one of her breasts. “No,” he told her, “I prefer curves on a woman.” Since she wasn’t objecting, he stepped closer, said what he was certain she wanted to hear: “Yours, to be exact.”

Her hands came to rest on his waist, slid up his chest. “Right answer,” she told him softly.

Casey slid his hands to her waist to pull her against him. “I suppose I need to explain.”

“No,” Riah said. “I know the story—saw the pictures, too.”

Surely her father hadn’t shown them to her? Casey dismissed that thought almost immediately; then he realized it was entirely possible they had been in his dossier at ISI. She had, after all, admitted reading it before she arrived.

“You’re no saint, John,” she continued, “and I knew about Prague before I got here. Your past is your past. You can tell me or not. Your choice.”

Not sure which answer she wanted, Casey asked, “Do you want me to tell you?”

The tip of her tongue ran along her upper lip a moment, and his eyes followed that bit of pink flesh. “No,” she said quietly. “I don’t think I do.”

There had to be a trap waiting to spring, he thought. There was no way Riah was going to let this go this easily. He hadn’t imagined her own cattiness with Carina, and her description of the woman as titless and big-hipped spoke volumes. There wasn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t use this to her advantage, yet as Casey looked down at her, she appeared content to let it go with that. If he were smart, he’d let it go as well, but if Carina had been serious and if he really was going to have to lend a hand with whatever had brought her back to Los Angeles, he wanted to know for certain that Riah wasn’t going to gut him.

Her lips twitched. One hand stroked over his shoulder. She answered his unasked question. “Isobel Gerrard showed them to me.”

_Izzie_. He might have known, he thought fondly. “I didn’t know the two of you were acquainted.”

All of a sudden, there was a whole new trap yawning before him.

Someday he really would learn _not_ to talk to women.

Riah rubbed her body against his. “Mrs. Gerrard and I are acquainted,” she told him, tipped her head back to meet his gaze. “She scares the hell out of me, but we have met.”

Casey laughed at that. Izzie could be scary as hell, it was true. Even Casey had a qualm or two when it came to dealing with the woman. It was telling, though, that Riah called her Mrs. Gerrard.

“Last I heard,” he said, “Izzie’s retired.”

Riah’s brows shot up at the diminutive, and Casey had an uh-oh moment. “She is, indeed,” was all Riah said.

“We through here?” he asked.

A smile spread across Riah’s face. “Not by a long shot,” she assured him.

Casey took that as his cue, bent and kissed her.

 

First thing in the morning, he caught Walker, handed off Carina’s ID and badge with a, “Don’t ask.”

He should have known she would. She gave Casey a shit-eating grin and said, “Do I want to know how you got this?” She leaned across the counter of Orange Orange and added, “Were there pictures?”

His terse, “Riah picked her pocket,” had her brows shooting up. Within moments, Walker got the story out of him.

At least she agreed to get the credentials back to Carina.

 

Around mid-morning, Riah walked through the doors to the storeroom where Casey loaded a cart to take merchandise to the Buy More floor. He would have welcomed the interruption had he not seen her grim expression. “Carina Miller is out front asking for you.”

_Round two_ , was his first thought. He’d managed to get off lightly with round one, but he really didn’t care to face a second. He’d not heard from Beckman, so he could, in good conscience, say no to whatever the redhead wanted. Casey grunted. “I’m surprised she didn’t follow you back.”

He noticed Riah made at least a small attempt to control her smirking little grin. “I called Morgan’s attention to her.”

Casey snorted. Then, he realized Bartowski must have told Riah about Carina and his little buddy’s obsession with her. “Give me a minute.”

As he watched her go, he felt his phone vibrate. He fished it out, saw it was General Beckman, and answered it. With any luck, he would soon be far away from the redhead’s mess.

Sadly, he couldn’t get that lucky.

“Carina Miller, I understand, has made contact with you,” the General said briskly. “Provide support, but offer no more assistance than is completely necessary.”

“Understood,” he bit out.

“Bring Ms. Miller, Agent Walker, and Mr. Bartowski to Castle for a briefing.” He thought he heard a small sigh. “Find a way to bring Miss Adderly.”

“Ma’am?” He couldn’t see any possible reason for including Riah in one of Carina’s clusterfucks. And it would be a clusterfuck. Not a bit of it would go according to any agreed upon plan, he knew.

“This involves the Canadians, but we’ll need a bit of subterfuge. Carina is determined not to let the Canadians in on this, but Miss Adderly has connections to the case. Take Mariah to Orange Orange with you. Leave her upstairs until I tell you otherwise.”

He probably should have asked more questions, he thought as he entered the store’s sales floor. Riah was at the Nerd Herd desk with a customer while Walker and Bartowski stood talking to Carina. There was no sign of the Bearded Wonder, and Casey wondered how they had managed to get rid of Grimes.

“Like I said, Johnny,” Carina began without preamble, “I need you.”

“What mess do you need us to clean up this time?” he asked.

“Drug sting,” Walker added.

It mollified Casey that Walker seemed as unenthusiastic as he did. “Not our job,” Casey said, and he made sure that came out surly as hell.

“General Beckman is expecting us,” Carina said and put a hand on his back.

“Move it, or I cut it off,” he growled softly. She complied, though she took the opportunity to turn it into a caress. He gritted his teeth. “You and Walker take Bartowski to Castle. I’ll follow.”

Riah was free when he crossed to her and leaned down. She looked over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. He figured Carina was watching and wondered why Riah was acting this way. It wasn’t like her. “Riah,” he growled. She returned her attention to him. “We’re going to have to go to Castle for a while. Bartowski, Walker and Carina are going over now; I’ll follow in a little bit. I need you to leave with me as if we were going on break together.”

She nodded told him she’d find someone to take over the desk for her. He watched her search, wondered if she’d manage to find anyone, and waited impatiently until she reappeared with Skip Johnson in tow. Casey looped an arm over her shoulder, and they left the store.

When they were outside, Casey dropped his arm. “Can you hang tight in the Orange Orange?”

She shot him a look. “I suppose so,” she said.

He sighed, figured he owed her an explanation. “Carina’s missions never go according to plan. She’s often running a secondary game no one else knows, and she’s too prone to improvising on the spot. Beckman plans to deal you in, which is good because I like having someone who can be trusted to do what needs to be done.”

Surprise flashed across her face, which irritated Casey a little, but then she nodded. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I doubt DEA’s going to let me play in her sandbox.”

Casey knew better, but he didn’t tell Riah that.

The others were waiting in the yogurt shop when they arrived. “Why’d you bring ISI?” Carina demanded.

Before he could come up with an answer, Riah supplied one. “We always go on our breaks together,” Riah replied. “It would have looked suspicious if I hadn’t walked out with him.” She dropped into a seat at one of the tables and fished a paperback out of her bag. She made a shooing motion with her hands. Casey didn’t dare look at Carina and see how she reacted to that gesture.

They filed downstairs where Beckman was already connected. She ran through a few things about interagency cooperation, made sure she gave a meaningful glare at Casey and at Carina, and then got down to business, in a manner of speaking. “I believe, ladies and gentlemen, that given the players and the nature of this particular operation it would be of benefit to include Miss Adderly.” She eyed them through the monitor. “Major Casey, please invite Mariah to join us.”

As he climbed the stairs, he could hear Carina’s protests, listened as she changed tack at least twice when the General sternly overrode her protests. He stepped out of the access to Castle and motioned for Riah to join him.

General Beckman waited as they descended the steps. Riah slid into the seat Casey held for her before he sat next to her. “Miss Adderly,” the General said, “Carina was about to brief the team on her assignment. Your assistance with this matter is vital.”

“One of my fellow agents and I infiltrated a drug smuggling operation in Canada,” Carina began. “They bring drugs from South America into Halifax and from Asia into Vancouver. From there they are primarily distributed to the United States.” Her pale eyes studied Riah. “The mastermind is, apparently, an old friend of yours.”

From her tone and the way she slid her eyes to him, Carina expected Casey to take exception to her insinuation. He knew that whoever it was, it had not been an intimate relationship. Riah simply raised her brows and waited for the other woman to continue.

Beckman, tired of waiting for the stalemate to end, said, “His name is Edmund Donnelly.”

Riah’s frown was thoughtful. “There must be some sort of mistake,” she said. The General put up a photograph of the man in question, and Casey watched Riah’s face pale. It was obvious she recognized the man. Casey wondered how she knew him as the photograph was replaced by one of Donnelly shaking hands with another man whose dress and posture practically screamed drug supplier and then one of him handing a briefcase off and receiving a small bale of what looked like cocaine in return. Donnelly was apparently stupid, was Casey’s first thought. Most drug runners were smart enough to choose drops that didn’t expose them to anyone with a long lens, and very few would accept what was obviously supposed to be drugs in the open.

Carina explained that Donnelly was the kingpin of a drug ring that stretched across Canada that had slowly begun moving into the United States. When Casey shot a look at her, it was easy to see Riah wasn’t buying Carina’s story, but he noticed she held her tongue. When Carina had finished, though, Riah said, “I fail to see what use I can be to you.”

“That’s what I said,” Carina snapped. “From what we’ve learned, you’re more likely to tip him off than help us.”

Casey sent a glare at the DEA agent, and General Beckman’s trademarked frown appeared. The General saved him from saying something he really shouldn’t. “Miss Adderly’s loyalties are not in question,” she said tightly. She looked at Riah then. “I do, however, understand that you and Donnelly were childhood friends.”

Riah nodded. “Eddie and I went to elementary school together. He went on to St. John’s for high school, but I returned to Ottawa. I lost contact with him. We met again when I went to graduate school. I assume your files indicate that we dated for a while.”

Casey’s hand fisted and his jaw clenched. Every time he turned around, it seemed they ran into another man who had dated Riah. He bit back a comment to that effect, but Bartowski’s mouth dropped open for a few seconds before asking, “But didn’t you and Casey—“

It was all Casey could do not to roll his eyes before he interrupted tightly, “Why do you think it was only for a while, numbnuts?”

Bartowski shut up, but Carina looked speculatively at them. “That wasn’t in our files,” she said.

Beckman said coldly, “Needless to say, it was in ours.” She paused a moment before adding, “If I may continue, Carina has infiltrated Donnelly’s organization here in the States. What I need you to do, Miss Adderly, is renew ties with your old friend. Let’s see if you and he can rekindle enough of your old feelings for him to take you into his confidence.”

“General,” Casey began, remembering the last time they had played this particular scenario, “I would like it on record that I object—“ but she cut him off.

“You will sit this one out, Major.”

It helped that Riah looked unhappy as she met Casey’s eyes. “General, I would feel a lot better knowing John—“

She cut Riah off, too, he noticed. “We can’t arouse Donnelly’s suspicions by having him see you with the man who replaced him in your bed.”

Riah’s face flamed, but she was smart enough not to correct the woman. When Riah looked over at Casey, he shrugged, but he was no happier than she. There were only three of them at this particular party who knew Donnelly had no real reason to recognize Casey, which made him wonder why the General had decided to sideline him.

“Mr. Donnelly is in Los Angeles, Miss Adderly. We believe he is meeting with a representative of the Santiago Cartel. He’s having dinner at Ivy this evening. I would like you to bump into him at the restaurant.”

On second thought, Casey would be happy to miss cooling his heels where the pretty people grazed. Riah, as far as he could tell, would rather give it a miss as well, but he hadn’t noticed, if he excluded her expensive underwear habit, that she frequented anywhere the famous went. “Look,” she told the General, “I avoid places like that, if for no other reason than my mother’s friends go there. I could be recognized as Ariel Taylor’s daughter.”

“I would think,” the General told her tartly, “that this is one time being so recognized could work in your favor.”

“Edmund knows my father, who he is,” Riah tried next, and Casey caught that this time she used the mark’s full name. “He probably knows I work for him.”

“Then you will inform Mr. Donnelly that you no longer work for ISI,” Beckman bit out. “Tell him that when you and Casey began your relationship, we insisted you quit or quit seeing him.”

Riah sat back, but Beckman apparently thought she was simply regrouping and decided to end this. “Now that your objections have been satisfactorily dealt with,” she said with a steely glare and acid tone that made clear Riah was not to raise another. Casey slid his hand into hers beneath the table as Beckman proceeded to outline the support she would have in place for the operation. Casey didn’t like that Carina would be with Donnelly, mainly because the DEA agent’s unpredictability made it more risky for Riah, whom Carina would sell if she had to in order to save her own ass. Casey knew better than most not to trust her.

As they made their way back to the Buy More with Bartowski, Casey told the younger man to go on ahead. He stopped Riah on the sidewalk. Before she could say anything, he dropped his voice and told her, “As soon as we get home, you’re going to tell me what you know about Donnelly.” She nodded.

He watched her as the day progressed. Riah often appeared lost in thought as she worked. Casey wondered what she was plotting, because he knew that expression she wore for most of the afternoon. He looked her friend up when he could steal a minute and was surprised to learn the man was a Mountie—or had been. That put an interesting wrinkle in things, so he considered various options, none of which seemed to fit what Carina described.

Still, it wouldn’t be the first time a cop figured out crime could be far more lucrative.

 

Late in the afternoon, Casey received the encrypted e-mail he had requested with a synopsis of Donnelly’s career. When he went to ask Riah about a couple of oddities in it, he couldn’t find her. Bartowski said she’d gone in the back, but when he got there, he didn’t see her. He saw Bunny, asked her if she knew where Riah had gone. “Loading dock,” she told him tersely.

Casey had a bad feeling, one that was confirmed when he opened the door and heard her on her phone: “I need to know if Edmund Donnelly is still working for the RCMP.”

He watched Riah fidget as she listened to whomever she spoke. Then she asked, “Is he working undercover?”

She was not selling information, he told himself. Surely she was just making sure the target was what the file Casey had read said. Perhaps he should have sent it on to her so that she wouldn’t be jeopardizing the mission this way. If the RCMP was looking at Donnelly as well, hell, even if CSIS or ISI was looking at Donnelly, he might have friends in those agencies who would tip him off after her call.

Then Casey heard her say, “Rob, I’ve been seconded to the Americans—which agency and why isn’t important—but Eddie is in town, and he’s wearing a target. I need to know if it’s a legitimate target or if he’s following orders.”

He was going to kill her, he thought. If he didn’t, Beckman would. She’d just told this Rob, whoever _he_ was, the one thing she shouldn’t, and Casey didn’t care how well she knew the man or how much she trusted him—that was one thing an operative _did not do_.

“Too late,” he heard her add. “There’s a DEA agent who has infiltrated his organization, and I’ve been ordered to rekindle our friendship with the intent of getting the goods to bring him down.”

Casey was furious. She had just compounded her mistake by telling whoever she spoke to the DEA was involved. He was going to have to call Beckman, who would probably send her home to her father—if she didn’t order her arrested or killed.

“As Dad would say, bingo,” Riah told the man to whom she spoke. Casey had a brief flash of amusement. Her father did, indeed, say that when he slotted the final piece of a puzzle in place. It was the first time he’d heard Riah use it, though.

He watched her as she paced to the edge of the concrete dock. “Probably not,” Casey heard her admit. After a few moments, she added, “Listen,” but whoever she spoke to must have cut her off. When he finished, she said, “I can live with that. There is a piece of information it would be useful for Eddie to have about my cover, though.”

Riah started to pace away again, but then she stopped. “How did you know that?” Casey wondered what “that” was.

After a moment, she said, “I will.”

There was another long pause. “I’ll do that.”

When she disconnected and turned around, Casey stood in front of the door with his arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t bother hiding how pissed off he was. “Tell me you weren’t talking to the RCMP about Donnelly.”

“Actually, I was.”

He uncrossed his arms and stepped toward her. That she admitted it won her a few points, but she should not have done what she had just done, and from the look on her face, she knew it. He grabbed her arms and leaned down, but he tempered his voice a little. “Riah, if you’ve compromised this mission, Beckman will have your head.”

“John, you saw those photographs. Anything strike you as odd about them?”

He frowned, and Riah maintained eye contact while he considered the photographs they had looked at. He’d thought as he looked at them that Donnelly was an idiot, but now he wondered if there was something else going on. Casey had, after all, seen that kind of photo before, and the other man in the pictures was a particularly obvious breed of scumbag. “Let me guess. The RCMP’s running a sting, and Donnelly is the officer in charge.”

“That’s what Rob says,” she said, “and I trust him.”

He nearly asked who in hell this Rob was. Instead, he told her, “You realize you’ve just told them we’re about to step on their operation.”

Riah nodded. “You can yell at me if you want, John, but Rob will make sure Edmund isn’t taken by surprise when I run into him. Carina is a wild card, as you say, but she’s not an idiot. If Edmund fumbles or doesn’t play along, then she’s going to wonder why.”

He eyed her. It was true, and Casey knew it. Carina was already pissed about Riah’s inclusion, and she would use whatever she could to get Riah shut out of the operation. “What was your relationship with Donnelly?”

She blushed. “We dated, but it was cover.”

Casey cocked his head and lifted a brow. “Make a habit of fake relationships?”

That made Riah laugh. “He’s gay, John. I was cover for his boyfriend. He was undergoing a security check for admission to the RCMP. He couldn’t afford for them to suspect his sexual orientation, so what better than to be seen dating the daughter of ISI’s top agent?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit late. . . .

Riah stood in front of the open closet door in her old room. Casey had just finished talking to Beckman. The restaurant had balked at allowing them to install surveillance, so they were going to have to put someone inside. Walker was nominated, so Casey was back to van duty. He’d told the General what Riah had done, felt he had to, and the General, after chewing on him for several minutes for not being able to control and contain Riah, had agreed that it was good to know a bit more about what they were walking into.

Casey had spoken to Riah’s friend at the RCMP, Rob Renegar. He knew the name, knew Renegar had once been involved with Riah’s mother. The Mountie vouched for Donnelly, though Casey admitted he was a little reluctant to take the word of a man who apparently found Ariel Taylor attractive.

When he walked up behind Riah, Casey looked over her shoulder at the clothes she hadn’t yet moved into the room they shared. He wrapped his arms around her and told her, “Wear the flames.”

She turned her head and looked up at him. He’d only seen Riah in it once, but he liked it. It felt like silk, and had two layers. The bottom one clung to her body, and the top one was looser, kind of floaty. The hem was uneven, and there was a faint pattern in oranges and yellows that bled into one another over the solid red beneath so it looked little like Riah was covered in flames. “I don’t think so.”

“It looks good on you.” Casey dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder. “It’ll get you noticed.“ He kissed her shoulder again. “You can move easily in it if you have to.” He kissed a little closer to her neck. “It’s long enough to hide your holster.” He kissed the join of her neck and shoulder and added the claim he thought might be most persuasive: “It’ll make Carina mad as hell to see you looking sexy.”

Riah snorted. “When did you start moonlighting at Spy Vogue?”

This time, Casey snorted.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said with a smile, “despite the many merits you’ve just detailed.”

When he asked her why, she reminded him of the deep vee in the back. “Leave your hair down and no one will notice,” he whispered.

Casey turned her around and took her mouth. As she wrapped her arms around him, he undid the corner of the towel she wore and let the terry cloth slide off her. He molded her to him, his mouth on hers. He ran his hands down her back and over her backside. Her hands slid under his untucked shirt, and he lifted her, walked to the bed and followed her down on the bedspread.

He drove her wild, his mouth and hands on the places he had learned sent her over the edge. Her hands and mouth did their work as well, and when they lay spent, hands idly stroking over each other as they came down, Casey took Riah’s mouth again. “I like you like this,” he told her, “but you need to look good tonight.”

“Remember the gay part?” she asked sleepily.

“I remember,” Casey told her, hoped it was true, though he had no real reason to doubt her, “but this is as much about how others see you as how Donnelly sees you.”

He kissed her again, then told her, “But you can’t go out smelling like sex, so back in the shower.”

Riah stretched against him. “Come with me.”

“Doesn’t matter if I smell like sex,” he teased, but then he remembered Bartowski would be along for the ride.

When she headed downstairs, Casey was pleased to note Riah wore the dress he’d chosen with a pair of sexy as hell red high heels. He stroked a hand down the glossy, silky hair she left down to hide the reminder of Edmonton. Riah also wore a wire and an earpiece. As they left the apartment, he gave her last-minute instructions. Bartowski waited by the fountain in the courtyard, so Casey tossed him the keys to the van parked down the street before he walked Riah to her car. “Be careful,” he told her, dropped a kiss on her mouth, and reminded her to let them get in position before she went in. Beckman had arranged to have a spot marked off for them by the utility company.

“How can you be okay with this?” Bartowski asked as Casey got in the driver’s seat.

He started to snap out that the kid seemed fine with Walker and what she got up to, but he bit it back. The kid wasn’t okay with it, and Casey really wasn’t interested in hearing about it.

“Did you see that dress?” Bartowski sailed on. Casey shot him a hard glare.

“I see you did,” Casey said silkily. He knew the kid wasn’t interested in Riah, but sometimes he liked to mess with him. Bartowski was often an easy mark.

The kid should have broken something given how quickly he backpedaled. Then, the Chuck changed gear. “Come on, Casey,” Bartowski said. “I realize you’ve had your emotions surgically removed, but you can’t seriously be alright with your girlfriend enticing her former boyfriend.”

That hit a target, but Casey really didn’t want to think about what he might listen to that evening. Riah claimed Donnelly wouldn’t be interested in her, but that didn’t mean someone else wouldn’t. “I picked the dress.”

Interesting how that little piece of information shut the kid up for a good minute.

“You did.” Bartowski’s deadpan had a healthy dose of disbelief simmering below the surface.

“It looks good on her,” Casey responded. Then he dropped his tone to menacing: “It got your attention.”

“In a completely platonic kind of way—like appreciating good art.”

And the babble was back, Casey thought as the kid ran on, tried to deflect what he thought was Casey being pissed off. Casey tuned it out, let Bartowski run off at the mouth while he considered all the ways in which this might go wrong.

By the time they were in place and Riah arrived, Casey had begun to wonder whether or not he could find enough duct tape to do what the bar code labels at the Buy More had failed to do when the kid wanted him to talk about Ilsa. Structural failure, he decided. If he’d wrapped it around the kid’s head a couple of times and gone for a few overlapping layers, it might have worked. Would have been painful as hell when the kid removed it and a section of hair afterward, too.

Riah said softly, “He’s here,” so Casey told Bartowski to can the chatter and listen. Then he heard Riah give a soft groan followed shortly by another woman’s voice slurring, “Mariah, darling!”

Walker was in his ear. “Someone just joined Mariah.”

That meant Walker didn’t know who it was, and that meant this could go south quickly. Then he heard the newcomer ask, “Are you meeting Ariel?”

The woman’s voice sounded familiar, and her use of Ariel’s first name raised caution signals for Casey. “Riah?”

She answered him by saying, “Hello, Theresa. No, I’m here alone tonight.”

Itty bitty dress and all hands, Casey remembered. The woman from the Baines job, Ariel’s friend, who confirmed her identity by asking Riah, “What happened to that gorgeous, tall hunk of man you were at the gallery with?”

Bartowski gave him a look that seemed a cross between constipation and ah-hah! Riah told the other woman she’d left him home.

“Darling,” Theresa drawled, “I wouldn’t leave a man like that alone. Who knows who might snatch him away?”

Bartowski bit his lip; Casey appreciated that he didn’t say whatever it was he was thinking because Casey was pretty sure it would be at his expense. Bartowski, though, simply couldn’t keep it in. “Who might snatch you away, Casey?”

The pitbull growl wiped the amusement off the kid’s face, especially coupled with Casey’s I-will-dismember-you-before-death glare.

Theresa had moved on, though, asked, “Did you hear about Gregory Baines?”

Casey’s ears sharpened. He knew exactly what happened to Baines, so did Riah. The man was in solitary, and he was going to stay there. Casey wondered what story had gone out to cover Baines’ disappearance. He heard Riah’s cool, “No, what?”

The woman’s voice was so faint he almost didn’t hear her say with relish, “He tried to sell a fake Rembrandt to one of the van der Meers.”

To no one’s great surprise, Baines turned out to have dealt in stolen as well as legitimate art. Casey had no sympathy for the man’s former clients who now probably wondered whether they had actually gotten what they paid for. It wasn’t like they could have them evaluated without having to answer questions—or possibly charges for receiving stolen property. “Stupid,” he heard Riah reply. Thankfully, Theresa didn’t linger much longer, told Riah to call her so they could do lunch.

He headed off Bartowski by saying, “Word of advice, Bartowski. If a middle-aged woman, obviously drunk in a tiny dress and a voice that could peel paint ever approaches when you’re with Riah, run.”

“Duly noted,” Bartowski said, and Casey was surprised the kid added nothing more. Instead, he chattered away about what they were there to do. Casey tuned it out, listened to Walker tell Riah that Carina’s signal would be kissing Donnelly. Then Walker took Riah’s order.

Bartowski got bored, especially since there were no eyes inside. Casey was as well, but not enough to start a conversation with the kid that could go any of a thousand different directions from the starting point. Finally, he heard Riah say, “On the move.”

A moment later, she asked, “Edmund?”

Casey heard an odd accent when the man replied, “Mariah?”

“It’s been a very long time.”

“That it has. I last saw you in Montreal, five, six years ago?”

“Five,” he heard her confirm.

“You left me for the tall American,” he said. Casey had to admit that probably worked in their favor. Riah was right. If Donnelly fumbled, it could raise doubts neither of them needed. “You still with him?”

She told Donnelly what they had agreed she would: “We split a year or so ago.”

He heard Carina, then, and it occurred to him that not only had they failed to ask what alias she was using but that she had failed to provide it. “Who is this, Edmund?”

“A childhood friend, Carla. Mariah, I’d like to introduce Carla Casey. Carla, Mariah Taylor.”

Casey’s disgruntled growl was the lesser of the things he’d like to let loose at the moment, and it was even harder to contain what he really wanted to say when Riah said with a seductive lilt in her voice, “Perhaps we could find an opportunity to catch up on old times.”

Eddie-boy sounded like he liked that idea—a lot—when he responded: “Anytime.”

Riah asked if he had something to write on, and Casey’s teeth gritted. She told the other man to call her. Casey wasn’t surprised when Donnelly promised to do so. She must have gone back to her table since the next thing he heard was a quick conversation between her and Walker, who apparently brought Riah’s check. “Heading out,” Riah said softly.

He watched for her as she left the restaurant and walked toward the van. Casey told Bartowski to get the door. Riah quickly stepped up and inside. “That’s done,” Casey told her as she dropped into the chair next to his and slipped off her shoes.

“Mmm,” she said, lifting a foot to rub her arch.

Casey watched her fingers a moment and then reached for her foot. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Bartowski’s face reddened. “That feels good,” Riah moaned softly as she put her other foot in Casey’s lap. He switched feet. “Why didn’t you tell me Carina was using your name?” she asked as she fished out the earpiece and then the mic.

It was Casey’s turn to blush. “I didn’t know.”

While they waited for Walker, Riah gave him a verbal report on what he had not been able to see, including the fact that she suspected one of the men with him was his current lover. Casey raised his brows, so she gave him a list of Donnelly’s nonverbal tells.

Bartowski’s brows shot up. “I thought he was your boyfriend,” he said at last.

Riah, after a glance at Casey for permission, told Chuck that she had been cover for Donnelly.

“Get their names when you see Donnelly,” Casey told her when she looked back at him. He suspected that if Donnelly was on the up and up, they’d find they were either RCMP or CSIS. If they had been ISI, Riah should have known them. Since Carina wasn’t wired or wasn’t letting the feed come through—and Casey knew it could be either—they waited. After a while, Riah stifled a yawn and rubbed her eyes. Casey took her hand and tugged her over and into his lap. He linked his hands over her hip when she rested her head against his shoulder. “Tired?” She nodded and slipped a hand up around his neck.

He dropped a kiss on her forehead, and she lifted her face. He gave her a soft kiss. “Won’t be much longer,” Casey promised. She was nearly asleep when the door was wrenched open and Carina climbed in. Riah started to move out of his lap, but Casey’s hands tightened on her, held her in place.

“Well, that was a bust,” the other woman said, dropping into the seat Riah had previously occupied. She eyed the two of them and then said, “You certainly weren’t trying very hard.”

“I know Edmund,” she said. “If I’d pushed, he would have been suspicious. He’ll call.”

Carina scoffed, but before she could say anything, Riah’s phone rang. She picked up her bag, dug it out, and answered it. Because she was so close, Casey couldn’t help but hear Donnelly when he said, “Have lunch with me tomorrow.”

Riah met his eyes, and when he gave a slight nod, she answered, “I would love to. When?”

“I’ve got some business to take care of in the morning,” Casey heard the other man say. “One?” He nodded again. That gave them plenty of time to get set up.

“One would be great,” she told him. “Where should I meet you?”

“How about I pick you up?”

She looked at Casey, who shook his head. He needed her in a spot they could control, a place where, with any luck, they could either have full surveillance or put their own people inside—preferably both. Riah asked, “How about I just meet you?”

There was a pause. “Something I should know, Mariah?”

She watched Casey’s face. From her expression, he wondered what she was about to say that he would be unlikely to approve. “I lied. I still live with the tall American.” Casey was about to protest, but he closed his mouth. In truth, if Riah was right, if the man was what she claimed, it would probably be best if he knew Casey was around. If he wasn’t what she purported, then it was equally useful for Donnelly to know Casey would keep an eye on her.

“Bad girl,” Donnelly laughed. “You know I want to hear this story, especially since you and I both know there was no tall American in Montreal.”

“How about you meet me?” she asked, and named her favorite bistro. Casey nodded at her choice. They’d found the management cooperative before. He began plotting what would need to be done while she and the other man said goodnight. “We’ll see if we can get some audio in there, maybe video,” he told her when she stashed her phone back in her bag. “If not, we’ll wire you.”

Carina was not happy, and it showed. “This is supposed to be my case,” she grumbled.

Riah shrugged and spoke before Casey could. “You asked for help.”

That seemed to shut Carina up. Nonetheless, Casey dropped a kiss just below Riah’s ear then whispered, “Play nicely.”

She gave him a look that said she would do no such thing. He cranked a brow up and gave her a look to reinforce his instruction. He needed her to behave, but he was also aware that he needed her if Donnelly really wasn’t what Carina claimed. Riah turned her gaze to Carina, “Interesting choice of cover name.”

Pissed about that himself, he waited to hear what had possessed her to choose his name. Carina gave a slow smile. “I didn’t think Johnny would mind.”

Casey sure as hell did mind, but he didn’t say so.

Bartowski, finally cluing in to the tension decided to get involved. “I’m sure Casey doesn’t mind. After all, it isn’t like he’s going to meet Donnelly until the end of this, right?”

Carina turned her attention to him. Before she could put the kid down, Riah simply said, “Enjoy it while you can.”

A sort of purring sound came from Carina. “I could say the same to you.”

He felt Riah tense, but she decided, wisely as far as Casey was concerned, to disengage. Carina also decided to behave, and that had Casey wondering when the next clash would start. At this point, the two women had managed if not to be polite to one another to at least not engage in bloodshed. Carina played for keeps, but Riah was still untested when it came to this.

Then it occurred to him to wonder if she was jealous.

She didn’t act like it, though, at least not in the way he would have expected. Riah had sniped about Celia and about Val, but that had all been directed at Casey. This wasn’t. This felt more like trying to mix oil and vinegar: they simply didn’t, at least not for long.

He’d had tense assignments before, assignments where there were more issues between his team than there were with the enemy, but this was the first time he suspected the animosity was about him. Casey was well aware how conceited that sounded, but there was no other explanation, other than Donnelly, and Riah didn’t seem the least interested in the other man on a personal level.

Walker joined them, and Casey couldn’t say he was sorry. Riah slipped off his lap to slide her shoes back on her feet. Her car was in the parking lot a block away, and she picked up her bag and fished for her keys. Casey, ready to escape, told Walker to take the van back. Then he took Riah’s hand and left with her.

When they were clear of the van, Riah asked, “Shouldn’t you stay with Chuck?”

He shrugged. “Walker can take care of him.”

Casey took her keys, held the passenger door, and waited for her to settle in the passenger seat before walking around the car and settling behind the wheel. Once they were home, Riah headed for the stairs, but he stopped her. “We need to check in with Beckman,” he said. Beckman was pleased Riah had arranged a meeting so quickly.

When they were in bed, Casey told Riah, “I need to know what you told the RCMP.”

Riah explained that she had simply been checking to see if they knew what Donnelly was up to because she had doubts. She told him her contact at the RCMP had confirmed that her old friend was running an op and what it was. Then she told him she had sent Renegar information to give Donnelly about their cover story—swore it was only the part that said she and Casey had met in Montreal. “Though I suppose,” she finished, “that he knows the cover is in use since I told him I still live with you.” She thought a moment before she asked, “Are you sure Carina is really after what she says she is?”

He looked at her. “What do you mean?” Even as he said it, his mind began running various possibilities. It was true the DEA agent sometimes ran more than one game, sometimes played multiple agencies off one another, so he should probably have considered the idea sooner.

“Don’t you think it odd that she hasn’t done anything to move in yet? She’s had to have seen enough to know Edmund’s doing what she claims, but the DEA hasn’t acted.”

Her question was a valid one, so Casey considered it carefully. Riah had been in the business long enough to know, though, that sometimes letting a target run to gather more information was more valuable than an arrest. It was possible, he supposed, that Carina was after Donnelly’s contacts and had delayed action to get them. He shrugged. “Maybe they’re hoping to get one of the cartels.”

Riah thought it through. “I suppose, but why interfere with an ongoing RCMP investigation, especially since the alleged drug ring is Canadian? Unless there’s something she’s not telling us, they apparently don’t know he’s a Mountie.”

Casey grunted. Again, it was a valid point. The DEA normally wouldn’t move into a friendly country without an invitation, but Carina had admitted they had gone into Canada on this. He knew the RCMP had no jurisdiction in the States, so he doubted they would run this kind of operation without the DEA’s participation and cooperation. He decided there were questions he needed to ask, and he considered which of his contacts were most likely to know. Carina had left a lot of gaps, but that was par for her particular course. He slid a hand over Riah’s stomach to her hip and turned her toward him. Riah ran her arms around his shoulders and lifted her face.

Before his mouth found hers, she admitted, “I expected yelling.”

“For what?” he asked.

“Calling Rob and tipping him off that the DEA might interfere with Eddie’s operation.”

Casey ran a hand down her spine. “Eddie?” He put a hint of menace in the name.

“We met when he was six, John, so, yeah, Eddie.” She grinned. “Emotionally, he’s probably only about twelve.”

He snorted. “He’s really gay?”

She laughed before giving him a knowing grin. “You’re just his type. Want an introduction?”

“He’s not mine,” he growled and caught her mouth in a kiss. When he broke the kiss, he murmured, “He’d better not be yours.”

Riah moved closer to him. “Eddie and I have the same tastes in men,” she assured him softly as she ran her hand onto his cheek. Her thumb stroked gently over his mouth, and then she kissed him, long and slow, with her entire body.

“For the record,” he told her, rolling her onto her back, “I don’t share, so don’t get ideas about his boyfriend.”

Riah pulled him down to her, put her lips against his, ran the tip of her tongue along his, then said, “I don’t share, either.” She kissed him. “And I only have ideas about you.”

 

It wasn’t hard to arrange for Riah to have the day off. Casey was already scheduled for a day off from the Buy More, and he enjoyed hacking into Milbarge’s computer in the early hours to change the schedule. He knew it would make the assistant manager nuts, so around mid-morning, Casey abused a few privileges to pull up the feeds from the Buy More and watch the idiot check and recheck his computer. Milbarge was furious. Casey owned that he derived petty satisfaction from the other man’s confused anger.

Unfortunately, as the morning wore on, Riah got weirdly nervous. Casey wondered if she had failed to tell him something—it wouldn’t be the first time—but he suspected there was something else at play. He finally cornered her. “Spill,” he ordered when he found her

She appeared to be staring at his chest. “This could go wrong in so many ways,” Riah said. She lifted her head, met his gaze. “I could be recognized, depending on whether or not he brings people with him. Eddie’s running a huge risk using his real name, and I can’t believe his superiors let him.” He understood those concerns, had had a moment or two himself where he wondered why Donnelly hadn’t used a cover name given what he was doing. It would be all-too-easy to find out he was a Mountie if anyone checked, and there would always be someone careless enough to confirm he still was if asked with the right incentive.

“It’ll have to play out as is,” he told her. “You won’t be alone in there. The staff other than the cooks will be our people.”

She dressed in a pair of jeans and a light, v-necked sweater over a t-shirt. When asked, she told him she had an ankle holster and wore a vest. She blushed and admitted to a second handgun in her shoulder bag.

In an attempt to settle Riah, Casey suggested she head out a little early. He had van duty yet again. She let him get in place before she entered the restaurant. Casey was grimly amused that Donnelly, already seated, must have had the same idea.

Casey watched as Donnelly stood and put his arms around her when she arrived at their table. The other man kissed her and then held her chair. Casey’s lip curled. Donnelly lifted a bottle of wine from the table, and Riah smiled when he poured her a glass. Casey’s eyes narrowed when he saw her mouth move, form a silent word, as she picked up her glass. She did _not_ , he thought angrily, just tell the man she was wearing a wire. “Riah,” he growled before he then shut up. She’d made smart calls so far, and she knew their conversation would be recorded. He’d just have to trust that she knew what she was doing, despite his doubts.

It was mind-numbing to sit there and listen to them talk about their childhood in Newfoundland, though Casey did get a different picture of her from that discussion. Donnelly had apparently known her before her abduction, and the little girl the man described sounded very different than the woman Casey knew. Donnelly mentioned someone from their past, and he watched Riah’s head tilt the way it did when she wasn’t sure of something. He shifted cameras so he could see her face. She frowned, looked puzzled, and remained quiet while Donnelly talked. After a while, Casey caught a strange pattern in the man’s words.

_Fucking code_ , he thought in disgust. Before he could say anything, a waiter who was really a CIA officer took their orders. When they were alone again, Casey noticed Riah’s words were hesitant, though the apparent subject wasn’t something that should have made her so. “You realize you’re translating this for me later,” he told her silkily.

Then, to Casey’s amusement, Donnelly began asking her about him. The man gave no indication that he knew Casey was NSA, though he was certain Donnelly had to know. “So you’re still with your tall American?”

Riah confirmed it.

The man grinned. “You always did go for tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed men,” he said on a sigh. “I was no competition, was I?”

For a moment, Casey felt the anger rise above simmer, but then he remembered what she had told him. The man was obviously playing for the audience. It mollified Casey to hear Riah say, “Much as I hate to crush your ego, none whatsoever.” She sipped her wine before adding, “But I don’t think you and I would ever have worked out, Eddie. We knew way too much about one another.”

“True,” he agreed, and Casey wondered what the man knew about her that he didn’t.

“Want to tell me about the redhead?”

Donnelly gave her a wide smile. “Oh, how I wish you were jealous,” he said with a grin before adding, “but, truthfully, Carla’s only an associate with aspirations, my dear.”

Riah laughed at that, and Casey caught the edge of mean. “What kind of business are you in, Eddie?”

He shrugged. “Import-export. I have a home base in Vancouver.”

“Really?” she asked. “What to do you import and export?”

They paused as their orders were set in front of them. “Believe it or not, I decided to put my art history degree to use. Remember how I wrote my thesis on folk art of the Dene?” Casey wondered who or what the Dene were, but Riah nodded. “I started by helping them establish a co-op for their work, and from there they introduced other nations to me. I send their work out of Canada and across Canada, and I bring in work from southeast Asia. I’m moving into South and Central America, now, and I’ve had a few feelers from Alaska and the Pacific Northwest here in the States.”

“I’m impressed,” she said, and so was Casey. If Donnelly was truly in the drug trade, was truly doing as he said, he had regular shipping routes he could use and artifacts that would make concealing the product relatively easy. “I assume those two gentlemen with you last night were business associates?”

Donnelly’s smile was sly, and Casey recognized the expression. Riah was right, he realized. One of Donnelly’s men was something more than an associate. The answer he gave Riah was clearly coded, so Casey wondered if the name he dropped was real or part of that code. Donnelly then told her the other associate was Paulo Figueiro, and mentioned he was Brazilian. Drugs weren’t Casey’s usual gig, but he suspected that meant the supposed Brazilian was undercover as well, especially since Casey knew Brazil exported most of its illegal drugs to Europe.

As lunch wound down, Donnelly told Riah, “I’m throwing a party tomorrow night. Why don’t you come? Bring your American, if you like.”

Riah demurred, but the other man cajoled her. Casey told her to accept. It would get them on the inside and get them a closer look at who Donnelly was playing with. Casey still didn’t trust Carina, still wasn’t sure what she’d dragged them into, but he wouldn’t mind seeing for himself. Riah let the man suggest one more time that she come before she agreed. Casey watched as Donnelly took a pen and a piece of paper out of his breast pocket and wrote what was probably an address while he told her what time he’d expect her. She accepted the piece of paper and confirmed she’d be there.

Once more the agent posing as their waiter arrived at the table. They declined dessert, and when the check came, Donnelly insisted on paying.

They left the restaurant together, and Donnelly offered to drive her home or to work. Riah was smart enough to tell him she was staying at her mother’s Malibu house and didn’t want to take him so far out of his way. It neatly kept him from their home and Bartowski’s as well as Castle and the Buy More. Casey watched as the man hailed a cab for her. Casey told her to meet him at Castle. She gave the driver Large Mart’s address. Casey followed once Donnelly was out of sight. The cab deposited her at the store, and he watched her go inside. He nearly told her the subterfuge wasn’t necessary, but he appreciated her caution.

He met her in the yogurt shop a few minutes later. Walker had called Bartowski—that or the kid was on break and had just turned up. Casey was simply glad Carina was not with them. It was a short-lived happiness since the woman joined them quickly. She eyed Riah and said, “Now that the two of you have caught up on old times, maybe you’d like to get down to business next time.”

So she had been listening in, Casey thought. Riah fixed an innocent look on her face. “Remember, your lot only cut me in because you were clearly not up to the job.”

To his surprise, Carina didn’t engage. Casey couldn’t help wondering why not. It was the kind of challenge she normally confronted head-on.

They reported to Beckman, who agreed he and Riah should attend Donnelly’s party. Riah didn’t look happy, which raised Casey’s suspicions. Riah told General Beckman quietly that Donnelly would know Casey, and it was entirely possible other attendees might as well. She also said that since Carina was using Casey as a cover name, it might prove awkward and more than coincidental. Beckman then suggested Carina could say Casey was her brother. Casey struggled to hide the cringe, though presenting him as a relative might cover any of Carina’s verbal digs. Bartowski was the one who pointed out that it might be too much of a coincidence for Carina’s brother to turn up with Donnelly’s ex-girlfriend.

They talked further before finally deciding that coincidence happened and would happen in this case. Carina was asked for a probable guest list, so they could determine if anyone present might recognize Casey. She began listing names, but it was soon clear it was unlikely anyone would know him. Casey was, nonetheless, cautioned to take care. After Beckman disconnected, his team and Carina discussed a few plans. When preliminary plans were settled, Casey told Riah he would take her to get the car she had left at the restaurant.

Once they were in the Vic, he asked, “So what were you two really talking about?”

Riah didn’t dissemble. She told him that one of the men from the night before was CSIS and that Donnelly was on to Carina. Her phone buzzed, so she looked at the screen. “It’s Edmund.”

Casey told her to answer it.

She did so, then shot Casey a look. “Yes.”

Riah moved the phone from her ear, held it between them, and put it on speaker. Donnelly’s voice said, “Major Casey? I asked Mariah to do this so we’re all clear here. Your DEA agent is dangerously close to ruining two and a half years’ worth of work. I need someone to put a leash if not an actual muzzle on her. Tomorrow night’s party is the final play of this little game. I trust Mariah, and she trusts you. As a result, I’m willing to do so as well. I need the lovely Carina occupied and out of the way.”

Donnelly went on to explain he had several cartel leaders coming to the party—a fact Carina did not know. He told them he had reason to suspect the redhead was playing a game of her own with the Colombian representative and that her game involved a particular set of emeralds. Riah groaned when the other man said that. Casey shot her a look. Donnelly continued, “Mariah can explain that to you, and I’m going to have to ask you a really huge favor here, Mariah.”

Riah sighed. “There’s absolutely no way she’s going to let me have them, Eddie.”

“Who says you have to ask?” Riah’s face said she was afraid Donnelly was about to ask her to steal them. “One of my native artisans has made a damned good fake. If you’ll tell me where to send them, I’ll get them to you, Mariah. All I ask is that you wear them to the party.”

“I might as well wear my bullet-proof vest with the big ISI letters on it,” she groused.

“Actually,” Donnelly told her, his voice a little tinny through the phone’s speaker, “you’re the perfect distraction. Only the Colombians will recognize what you’re wearing. Not only will they be too busy trying to reclaim their national heritage, but Carina will be focused on you as well, especially if, as I suspect, she’s made a deal for the emeralds. That lets me and my team finish what we need to without her interference.”

Suddenly, Casey had a clear picture of why he had been included in the other man’s invitation, and it pissed him off. It was one thing for Riah to choose to endanger herself; it was quite another for Donnelly to knowingly put her smack in front of the crosshairs. For an uncomfortable moment, Casey realized he’d done the exact same thing a time or two, but that didn’t make it any better. “I assume that’s where I come in,” Casey said quietly.

“I can’t protect Mariah and do my job at the same time,” Donnelly conceded, “and there’s no way I’m going to face V. H. and tell him what I put his daughter up to if something happens to her. From what I hear, you’re more than capable of seeing she stays safe. Bring a friend or two with you. I understand you work with the beautiful and deadly Sarah Walker these days.”

“Walker and Carina go way back,” Casey bit out, though he was certain Donnelly knew that. “She’ll be torn between loyalties. I don’t think she’s a good choice.”

“Bring someone else, then, or have Mariah call on ISI for some resources.”

“I’d have to tell Dad everything to get ISI operatives,” she warned him. Casey doubted V. H. would approve the request if she gave him all the details. He had finally placed what emeralds Donnelly meant, and that necklace had caused a lot of trouble over the years, had nearly gotten Ariel killed more than once, so there was no way V. H. would let Riah walk into a room with Colombian thugs wearing it—regardless of how well guarded she might be.

“That, I can’t let you do,” Donnelly returned. “ISI is riddled with Fulcrum, and I can’t afford to have someone leak to them what I’m doing. This is a lot more complicated than a simple drug deal, Mariah. Admittedly, since Laurance started singing, ISI’s getting a handle on the various cells, but I can’t risk it.”

Casey’s attention was suddenly intensely focused. “Fulcrum’s mixed up with this?”

“Tangentially,” Donnelly confirmed, “but, yes. They’ve discovered drugs make a good funding stream for their activities, but they’ve also found the drug smuggling networks are good for moving other things, like information and weapons.”

Casey agreed to bring a couple of agents along, was already sorting through and selecting and rejecting possibilities as Riah finished the call. Casey drove in silence a moment. “Get me up to speed, Riah.”

She told him the story he only partially knew from V. H. Riah explained that her mother and father had met over a set of emeralds her mother had acquired in a shady deal when she played Bogota early in her career. The Colombian government had wanted them returned because they had historical significance, but Ariel had refused, had even defiantly worn them to an embassy event in Ottawa later where the Colombian ambassador had made very explicit threats to her. She was about to embark on a Canadian tour, and V. H., who was in trouble with Clack, was punished by being head of her security detail. Riah summed up, “Mum still has them, and the Colombians still want them.”

Casey flashed a grin, hoped it didn’t show that for a brief moment he considered the possibilities. “Let me guess. They’re willing to kill for them.”

She nodded.

He snorted then decided, _why not_? “I might be able to make them a deal.”

There was a slight smile curving Riah’s lips, though she chose to ignore his comment.

When they got home, he got back in touch with Beckman. He and Riah told her about the call from Donnelly, and Beckman quickly decided they would proceed, though the plan shifted. She ordered Casey to take Bartowski, who might be able to identify any Fulcrum agents in attendance. Beckman would send a couple of other agents in as well. She asked Riah to arrange for them to be on the guest list. The General told Riah to have Donnelly deliver the fake emeralds to a public place. When Beckman had disconnected, Riah and Casey talked over potential locations to collect the necklace. Riah chose the local library’s reference section. She pointed out any of the usual haunts, while under surveillance and controllable, might lead others to Bartowski.

Riah made a fast phone call before driving straight there. Casey tailed her without trying to hide that he was doing so. He followed her inside, lurked among the shelves where he could see her. He watched her take a seat at a reading table opposite a guy who looked like he’d spent more time in a gym than with a book. Riah set her bag in the middle of the table and opened a thick tome she’d pulled off a shelf as she walked past. They both sat and read for several minutes before the bulky muscle reached for her bag and slid a flat, wooden box inside. Not subtly done, Casey noted, but done nonetheless. Riah continued to read for a good fifteen minutes after the man left before leaving herself.

Home again, she pulled the flat, square, wooden box out and popped it open. Casey looked over her shoulder. It was a stunning piece, he noticed. Polished emeralds set in primitive gold. “Got a loupe?” she asked. He rummaged in a drawer and handed her one, took a look when she finished. They might even fool an expert, he realized.

Casey gave an approving grunt. “I saw these on your mother once,” he said. Then he corrected himself. “Well, not these, I guess.”

He saw to the details, called the agent he’d chosen. He’d really rather have Walker, but he wasn’t sure after what had happened the year before that it wouldn’t just embolden Carina to have her along. That evening, he called Bartowski over when the female agent arrived, and he and Riah walked the two of them through the following evening. Donnelly, apparently willing to assist, had e-mailed Riah house plans.

The following evening, Riah chose a long, white dress. It had only one shoulder, but was cut in such a way it would hide her scars. It was also slit up the sides to mid-thigh. Casey eyed those slits and nearly suggested she change as he tied his bow tie before putting on the tuxedo jacket that had been carefully tailored to hide his holstered SIG. She wouldn’t be able to wear a holster with that much of her legs exposed, though he had to admit the emeralds would stand out against the heavy, white silk. She added a wide gold band bracelet and slipped on a pair of gold sandals as he watched. Casey realized her legs were bare. He dropped a kiss on her exposed shoulder then picked up the necklace and fastened it into place. It was heavier than he had expected.

Bartowski was already downstairs, dressed in a tux, too, and Alice Wozniak, the female agent he’d chosen sat on the sofa. Wozniak wasn’t as pretty as Walker, but she was, if anything, meaner. Wozniak had been told to lend a hand if needed but that her primary job was to keep Carmichael, as he’d introduced Bartowski to her, alive and out of trouble.

There was an uncomfortable moment for Casey when Donnelly gave him an appreciative look and held onto his hand a little longer than necessary when Riah introduced him and Donnelly shook his hand. The other man kissed Riah’s cheek. Casey heard her say softly to Donnelly, “Down, boy.”

Donnelly grinned and replied, “They look good on you. Want to keep them?”

She quirked a brow. “Assuming I stay alive?”

Casey noticed Donnelly gave her an unrepentant grin.

They mingled. Casey caught three men staring at Riah as though they had seen a ghost. He looked closer, recognized one as part of Pablo Molina’s organization.

That added a whole new level of urgency to this little party. If Molina was connected to this, there was more to it than just drugs and Fulcrum. Molina wasn’t a drug dealer except out of expediency. He was a terrorist intent on bringing a Castro-style coup to his country, and drugs provided easy money when he ran short of funds. Casey looked closer, realized that at least one of the three had to be related to Molina. The family resemblance was strong, and Casey, who had trained Colombian troops years earlier, had been close enough to Molina more than once to know.

The Colombians were practically on point. Casey leaned in on the pretext of kissing Riah and whispered that she was to stay close to him or Wozniak. She gave him a brilliant smile with a faint nod.

Carina sidled up, and her eyes goggled when she saw what Riah was wearing.

“Like living dangerously?” she asked softly.

Riah shrugged. Casey’s eyes narrowed, knew Donnelly had been dead on when he suggested the DEA agent had a side game running.

“Johnny,” the redhead said with a catty grin, “where’s Sarah?”

“Couldn’t make it,” he lied. He nodded at Bartowski and Wozniak.

Carina made a face. “Wozniak? Really? And I see you brought the analyst. I would have thought you’d bring more seasoned people, Johnny.”

Donnelly approached then, dropped a kiss on Carina’s cheek. “Carla, I didn’t see you arrive.”

She ran a hand up his chest and smiled. Casey felt a little slimy to think he’d let her do much the same to him once. He tried not to think of what else he had allowed. “You were busy, and I thought I’d just join the crowd.”

There came a point where Casey had to go deal with Bartowski. He and Riah both recognized his flash face, so Casey left her side to see what had happened. When they had earmarked four Fulcrum agents and Bartowski finished looking like he was about to be violently ill from the flashes, Casey noticed Riah, the three Colombians, and Carina were all missing. He should have put a wire on her, he realized, but he hadn’t expected to get separated from her. He paled when he realized what could happen to her—not to mention what her father would do to him if he had to explain to V.H.

For the next twenty minutes or so, he kept an eye on Bartowski and watched for Riah. She was resourceful, he reminded himself, and if Donnelly had half the brains she thought he did, he’d also have someone watching out for her. Casey was relieved when he finally saw her slip inside the French doors that opened out to the pool. Her necklace was missing, which meant she had been with the Colombians, but she didn’t look any the worse for wear. She was deathly pale, and he caught something disturbing in her eyes.

Casey took Riah by the hand and led her upstairs to an empty bedroom. “The Colombians—one of them is one of Pablo Molina’s lieutenants, probably a family member. He asked about Chuck. He knows about me. He knows Carina is DEA.”

Ignoring the information about Molina’s relative since he had already figured that out, Casey focused instead on the rest of what she had to say. From her face, the man knew she was more than simply an ISI operative, and coupled with Riah’s assertion that the man knew about Bartowski, Casey could draw only one conclusion. Since Molina would have no personal use for the Intersect, he figured he could either sell Bartowski—or Riah—to someone who did, or he could sell the information a piece at a time to the highest bidder.

As for Carina, she was a big girl who could take care of herself. It wouldn’t hurt Casey’s feelings if she couldn’t.

“Stay here.” He’d send Bartowski up to her, maybe Wozniak. Riah had played her part for Donnelly, so Casey could safely take her out of play. He went to find Bartowski.

He quickly told the kid where Riah was, told him to join her and stay with her. Bartowski looked like he was about to argue, but from the corner of his eye, Casey saw Donnelly signal another man. “Now, Bartowski,” Casey said. “It’s either that or be in the crossfire.” Thankfully, the kid went, and then it all went to hell. Donnelly’s men moved in. Casey was caught in the clean-up. He was so in his element, he forgot, for a moment, about Riah and Bartowski as they rounded up the bad guys with the help of CSIS and the DEA. It wasn’t until they had them sorted and subdued that Casey realized Carina wasn’t there.

“You’d better find Mariah,” Donnelly told him.

Wozniak stayed and helped the DEA while Casey climbed the stairs. As he opened the door, he heard Bartowski say, “You’re about to tell me the house equivalent of stay in the car.” His eyes found the kid who stood nose to nose with Riah. “Casey and Sarah always tell me to stay in the car.”

Riah looked like she had been in a fight, and a nasty one at that. The dress was spattered with blood, most of which appeared to have come from a split lip and her nose. Half her hair had fallen down, and she wasn’t wearing her shoes. “What happened?” Casey demanded as he caught her elbows.

He followed Riah’s gaze to the bed in an alcove.

His first instinct was to swear. His second was to laugh. He chose to simply grunt.

“Amusement,” Bartowski deadpanned. “That’s good, Casey.”

Casey couldn’t even muster annoyed for the kid. He looked back at Riah, tipped her face and considered whether or not he could afford to say what he really wanted with Bartowski as witness. He’d tell Walker, after all, and Casey would rather not add to Walker’s arsenal.

Riah had, apparently, not only bested Carina, but the DEA agent was currently out cold, cuffed to an iron headboard, gagged with her own stocking, and naked as the day she was born.

He would not smile.

He would not say a word.

He was damned well taking a picture the minute he got a chance.

Turning his attention back to Riah, he saw the cut wasn’t that bad, though Riah would have a fat lip. Her nose wasn’t broken, he noted, and the bleeding had stopped. “Clean up’s starting. Donnelly is asking for you.” He palmed his phone, considered how to do this, but his phone vibrated in his hand.

Bartowski had done the job for him, he noted as he pulled it from his pocket. Riah’s brows rose as she saw the satisfied smirk on his face.

“Your girlfriend’s a badass, Casey,” Chuck told him.

Riah apparently decided to throw Bartowski under the bus. “He’s the one who told me to gag her and reminded me that photographic evidence was required.”

A shadow crossed Riah’s face then. “John,” she said softly, “she—”

Casey bent and stopped her with a soft kiss, gave her a look that told her to save it, and led her and Bartowski back downstairs.

There were several DEA agents leading people out, and Donnelly and his CSIS partner stood talking near the pool doors. “Molina’s goon do that?” Donnelly asked, gesturing at Riah’s face as they joined him. She shook her head. All business now, he continued, “We got the ones we were after, and they’ll take the Colombians soon.” He leaned in and kissed Riah’s cheek. “Thanks for the distraction.”

They stayed long enough to answer the DEA’s questions, but Riah refused to let a medic look at her face. Casey suspected she wanted to go before someone found Carina. He told Donnelly he thought he’d get Riah home unless they needed them further. The other man shook his hand, thanked him for his assistance, and told him he was a lucky bastard.

Casey dropped Wozniak at the field office as she asked, and then he drove home. They checked in with Beckman, and then Casey sent Bartowski home. He took Riah’s hand and led her in the kitchen. He got a clean dish towel and ice from the fridge before he took a first aid kit out of one of the cabinets. He cupped her chin and gently cleaned her split lip. “What was the fight about?” he asked.

She winced when her grin pulled the torn skin. “Not you,” she said. He raised his brows. “She told Molina’s men who I was and suggested they kill me.”

Anger spiked, but he could well imagine Carina had done exactly what Riah said. Carina played dangerous odds, usually the very long shots. He released Riah and started putting ice in a plastic bag. “You said they knew what you were.”

She wasn’t fooled by his casual tone. “He knew about me, and he knew what you did for me.” Casey’s eyes shot to hers. Both her eyes and face hardened. She repeated what the man had said to her, that Casey and her father had sold their integrity for her after the mess with Laurance, and she told Casey she thought the man was the only one who knew. She explained that the others with him apparently didn’t speak English, so she couldn’t be sure. She then told him about the man’s interest in Bartowski and how she convinced him Chuck was of no value.

Casey closed the bag of ice and wrapped the dish towel around it before handing it to her. He’d known Laurance would cost him, but Casey could live with that. He’d done what was right, and if he’d had a personal investment in the outcome, well, it was one of the few times Casey had acted from his own personal interests. Bartowski was apparently rubbing off on him, he supposed, but that idea didn’t sting as much as it usually did.

Riah gently put the wrapped ice bag against her face.

“So how did he know?”

She shrugged then watched as he tidied things away. “Carina was there, listening. She accused us of being dirty.”

He snorted dismissively, but the comment hit a raw nerve. In part, it was that accusation coupled with the implication that Casey lacked integrity, but in part it was the urge to use words like _pot, kettle,_ and _black_. In addition, he would have to find a way to report what Riah had said without it looking like payback. Carina might have finally skated too far over the line, and, if so, then it was time to take her skates away. Thankfully, that would be someone else’s job.

It was entirely possible, though, that the woman had simply been needling Riah, though it was equally possible that she really had gone too far this time, sold information or made deals that fell on the wrong side of the law. It happened to agents, and Carina was ripe for that. Her ideas of right and wrong were looser than most, and because of her drive to win at any cost, Casey had long wondered when she would finally lose sight of the line between the two. That would be a shame. She did her job, but thankfully Casey rarely had to be there when she did.

He went about his nightly routine, checked the locks on the windows and door, set the alarm, and wrapped an arm around Riah before taking her upstairs. In their bedroom, he settled in next to her, pulled her close and said, “The next time an old friend of yours runs a game, let’s just be spectators.”

She snorted. “Next time that skinny bitch wants to play, let’s not.”

The better part of valor was not to answer, he knew, so Casey remained silent.

 

Over the next week or so, Casey grew uneasy, but he couldn’t quite figure out why. He and Riah got along, he did his job, and she did hers. Bartowski flashed, and he and Walker dealt with the kid’s intel and several threats.

One afternoon, though—and Casey was never exactly sure how—he found himself on a beach with Riah, Walker, Bartowski, Ellie and her fiancé. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what he was doing there. To all outward appearances, he was there with his girlfriend and friends. He could argue Riah was a kind of girlfriend, but he wasn’t sure he could legitimately claim the others as friends, wasn’t even sure he wanted to. He watched Riah, who, conscious of the questions exposing her back would raise, refused to swim, claimed she couldn’t. Casey was surprised no one remembered that first time he took her to the Bartowskis’ apartment when she told Woodcomb she enjoyed swimming.

As he walked her a little away from the others, it dawned on him: he was not only getting soft, he was being domesticated—which he didn’t like at all.

For the next several days, he considered that, chewed on it. Casey was happy to get the chance to shoot things and indulge in an explosion or two the following week, but it didn’t change how desperately he increasingly wanted out of Mission Moron. This wasn’t his life, not his real life, anyway, and he was certain he didn’t want it to ever actually _be_ his life.

That didn’t stop Casey from admitting it was an easy one. Chuck-watch, as Riah called it, was rarely taxing, and living with Riah provided a number of comforts. He was surprised she seemed content with her fairly traditional female role. For once, he didn’t mind that someone was cooking for him and cleaning up after him. He was capable of doing that, didn’t mind it much after several decades of doing it, but he admitted it was nice to not have to. The sex was comfortable as well, and they got along with relatively few hiccups.

He still kept circling back to the fact that it wasn’t his life, something it was getting increasingly harder to remember.

 

Casey moaned when the alarm went off. He slapped a hand at the clock, missed, then tried again, and smacked the snooze button. He fumbled around to find the button that actually turned the alarm off and made sure it wouldn’t wake him again. Riah stretched; Casey felt her body move against his, her skin slide along his.

When Riah’s arm began to move away from him, he stopped it, took her wrist. “Got work,” she mumbled.

“Call in sick.” He put his mouth to her forehead.

She lifted her face, and Casey kissed her. Riah kissed him back, but there was no passion there. She wasn’t quite awake yet, so he applied himself to getting her there, smiled when she moved against him, returned his kiss with fire. He started to roll her beneath him, but she pulled herself on top of him and straddled his hips. She broke their kiss to sit up, and Casey ran his hands up her flat stomach to her breasts as Riah positioned herself over him. He didn’t mind the lack of foreplay, didn’t mind her taking the lead, especially not when she lowered herself on him and began to move. He pulled her down for a hungry kiss and then began helping her. When she came, hard, he followed her.

Riah collapsed on top of him. Casey smiled against her hair. He traced her spine lightly with his fingertips as she breathed in deeply and made that purring sound she frequently made after sex. He liked that sound, liked it a lot. He felt her mouth against his chest, against his neck, and he lifted his head so that he could meet her mouth when she reached for it. One of his hands reached up to cradle her cheek while the other slid down her back. When she lifted her head, she smiled at him. “I have to get up.”

He grunted but let her go. Casey watched her pad naked out of the room to the bathroom. He had the day off and didn’t intend to get up for a while, so he rolled over and dropped off again. Casey briefly woke when Riah dropped a kiss on his mouth when she was ready to leave. He mumbled something about seeing her later and returned to sleep.

At midday he finally got out of bed. There had been a late night mission the night before, and even though it hadn’t panned out, it had still drained him, especially mentally since he had had to listen to Bartowski ramble on about some television show that just got cancelled and how the writer/director had been robbed once again. Casey had tuned him out by contemplating assassination methods best suited to an urban environment.

He wrote his report while he drank his coffee and sent it off to the General. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised when she called not long afterward. “Major,” she said gravely. “I’ve decided to grant your request.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Major,” General Beckman said gravely. “I’ve decided to grant your request.”

Casey was confused, but he kept his face impassive. He hadn’t made a request. He had simply sent an operations report.

When he said nothing, the General continued: “A car will collect you in an hour, Major. You are to return to Washington on a military transport, and you will receive your orders when you arrive.”

_**That** request_ , he thought. He had made it repeatedly for over a year before he accepted he was stuck with Mission Moron until Bartowski either finally got himself killed, Casey had to kill him, or Chuck was dropped into a bunker for the rest of his life. A part of him felt the familiar thrill at finally getting to go back to what he considered his real job. Another part of him was sorry to see the cushiest assignment he had ever had end.

Then there was Riah.

“General,” he began only to have her cut him off.

“Major, we need you elsewhere. Things are under control there.”

“Bartowski—“

“Is no longer your problem, Casey.”

His shoulders dropped. He tried one more time. “Riah.”

“Miss Adderly will return to her own agency,” the General said.

Casey’s eyes narrowed. Something was going on here, something he didn’t quite trust.

“Miss Adderly does not need to know you’re leaving or what your destination is, Major. I will see to it she’s told your part of this assignment—and hers—is at an end.” The look on Beckman’s face convinced Casey not to try and make further arguments. He was leaving, but Riah deserved to hear that from him. He told the General so. The woman on the screen gave him a hard look. “I realize you and Miss Adderly have gone beyond the parameters of the assignment, Major, and you’ve been warned more than once about maintaining distance from her. Thus far you’ve failed to do so. Your relationship with Miss Adderly,” and Casey noted she made the word _relationship_ sound like a swear word, “interfered with an assignment seriously enough that she gave away information and another agent’s integrity was questioned.”

_Carina_ , he thought bitterly. There had been an investigation, and while Carina hadn’t been completely exonerated, she hadn’t been fired, either. The General shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Casey cocked his head. That was new, he thought. The woman didn’t usually fidget, so his suspicions deepened.

Beckman then admitted, “I was able to contain the fact that Miss Adderly shared information with the Canadians.” Her mouth pressed together tightly a moment before she continued. “Given that, in this case, she was apparently right to do so, there will be no repercussions there.” Her face hardened, “But you, Major, need distance, and since you can’t achieve it in place, you will do so from Afghanistan.”

He could hardly protest, Casey realized. He’d asked to go, after all, and Beckman was now letting him. If he balked, she would simply make it an order, and if he tried to talk his way out of going, then there were other questions he would likely have to answer, questions he wasn’t certain he could answer truthfully. He resigned himself to leaving.

“Bartowski?”

“Is no longer your problem, Casey.” He was about to ask how the kid would be guarded, but Beckman didn’t give him the chance. “The clock is ticking, Major.” She disconnected, leaving Casey staring once more at the official seal. He did his duty. He went upstairs and took the packed bag with his uniforms, service weapons, and the rest of what he would need to report for active duty from the closet in the spare room.

When he had brought his bag downstairs, Casey debated calling Riah to tell her he was going over the phone or leaving her a note. He normally didn’t bother with goodbyes, especially not in cases like this. He was afraid that if he called her, Riah would come straight home, and Casey knew he was up to saying goodbye with an audience if he detoured to the store to tell her. If he did call and if she did come home, when she left the Buy More, he suspected Bartowski would be with her and Walker would be not far behind them. A note was easier but less personal. Casey grabbed a pad and wrote one, told Riah he was being recalled, that he didn’t know how long he would be gone or even if he would be back. He wrote that he would contact her when he could. It seemed cold and impersonal, but he didn’t know what else to put on the page, not when he didn’t know who might see it before she did.

That was something he had avoided acknowledging. It was probable the General intended to install someone else here to take his place on Team Bartowski, and it was entirely possible that whoever it was would move in before Casey hit the base from which he would depart. He didn’t like the idea of Riah coming home to find her things packed, or, worse, having someone go to the Buy More to relieve her. Another thought occurred to him, so he went upstairs and swept their bedroom. There were no bugs, so he picked up his phone and called Walker.

“You talked to Beckman lately?” he asked baldly.

“Not since the briefing yesterday,” his partner said, “why?”

“Just curious.” So Walker was likely staying in place, which made sense since it would look strange for them all to leave at the same time. Bartowski would certainly be happier with a little continuity, too. Casey made an excuse and hung up. Walker would likely take the first opportunity to check in with Beckman. Casey wondered what she would be told about his reassignment.

He went downstairs and looked around the living room. A small photograph of Riah caught his attention. It had been taken by Ellie Bartowski the afternoon they’d all gone to the beach. Casey picked it up. Riah wore a blue sundress, one with a neckline that left her shoulders mostly exposed but covered her front and back up to the line of her collarbones. Her hair was down, and the wind blew it gently as she softly smiled. She hadn’t swum that day, claimed she couldn’t, but Casey had seen her look longingly at the water and known the real reason was that she didn’t want to explain the scars on her back, scars she would be unable to hide in a swimsuit. Her explanation had been one of her rare slips in their cover, the only one he could really remember her making, but no one seemed to remember that at that first dinner at the Bartowskis’ she had told Woodcomb she swam.

Casey stuck the photograph in his bag.

A little more than twenty-four hours later, he was in uniform and on his way to the Afghan and Pakistan border on a plane filled with replacement troops. He had heard nothing from Riah and had not had a chance to contact her. General Beckman had promised to explain to her, and Casey hoped she kept that promise.

 

\------- X -------

 

Mariah took a deep breath and opened the door. It was getting harder and harder to act normally, or to at least act like a normal person. John was gone, and last night had simply driven the point home. She had come home from work to find their bedroom had been stripped of all his personal belongings. The bathroom and kitchen, too, were devoid of anything that had belonged to him. A fast check of the rest of the apartment showed that only the equipment provided by the NSA in their living room and enough of what she had always called his trophies remained. Admittedly these weren’t his—just substitutes. She hadn’t figured that out at first, but when she looked closer at the bonsai on the bookshelf, it was clearly not the one that had been there the day before, its size and shape subtly different, its tray a slightly darker shade than the one that had actually been John’s. It was the same with the model planes—they looked the same, but closer examination showed differences. The Reagan stuff had not been replaced, but Mariah was not sorry about that.

She wondered if he had come in while she was at work or if someone had been given a list and come in on his behalf. It was probably her fault. If she hadn’t panicked, if she hadn’t told Big Mike John was in the Reserves and had been suddenly called to active duty and shipped to Afghanistan, they could have just broken up, and she could have gone home, leaving him to do his job. When John was gone longer than the normal two days and no explanation had been given to her, Mariah had said the first reasonable thing she could think of to cover his absence.

John grumbled about this assignment, but underneath she’d seen that he didn’t mind it half as much as he claimed. It was possible, though, that he’d seen a way out and taken it. Wherever he was, she hoped it was worth it. She just wished he’d given her some sort of explanation.

That was the crux of her problem. John had just disappeared on her. He was there one morning, next to her in bed, she went to work, and she came home to find him gone. No note, nothing. A week later, his things were gone. No explanation. John hadn’t even left her a cover story she could use to explain his absence.

Mariah had expected more of him.

Ironically, shortly after she’d told the Buy More he’d shipped out, she’d finally heard from Beckman that he had, indeed, been recalled. What Mariah didn’t understand, though, was why the General had waited so long to tell her. Later, she realized the General had been arranging Mariah’s own departure, one she inexplicably about-faced on in the wake of what Mariah had told the others.

As she dragged herself upstairs to change, Mariah once more considered moving her clothes back to her old room, unable to face the empty half of the closet in what had started as John’s room. After she pulled on a pair of loose cotton pants and a t-shirt, she went downstairs, but she wasn’t hungry. She made a cup of tea and took it to the sofa where she flipped on the evening news just to have some noise and stretched out.

She was nearly asleep when she heard a knock on the door. Ellie Bartowski was on her doorstep. “I’m not letting you sit over here alone and mope,” she said, pushing past Mariah to enter.

“I wasn’t moping.” Mariah watched Ellie walk to the couch.

Ellie dropped onto the sofa, so Mariah closed the door and followed. “I know John’s gone,” the other woman said, “Chuck told me, but you can’t just sit over here by yourself waiting for him to come back.” Mariah was tempted to tell her that she most certainly could, but she held her tongue. “You can’t just sit here and worry about him.”

Mariah wasn’t worried about him. She was mad as hell at him by this time, but she could hardly tell the other woman that without having to make a lot more explanations than would be prudent. “Ellie,” she said gently, “I appreciate this, really I do, but I’m not in the mood to be social.”

“I know,” she said, “but I’m worried about you.” Mariah was touched. She nearly told Ellie so, but Ellie had sailed on, talked about knowing Mariah had trouble with depression and how she should feel free to talk to her. Mariah knew she couldn’t, at least not honestly. She thanked Chuck’s sister then asked how the wedding plans were coming along to distract the other woman.

Ellie was clearly happy as she talked about the wedding, and that only depressed Mariah more. She had never had that kind of relationship with anyone, certainly didn’t have that kind of relationship with John, and now he was gone. She pretended an interest she really didn’t feel in Ellie’s plans. She suddenly realized Ellie had said something to her and now waited for an answer. “Sorry?” she asked.

“I asked if you and John had thought about getting married.”

Mariah shook her head. “We’ve never talked about it, and considering what my parents’ relationship was like, I’m not sure I want to.” She couldn’t help thinking she wasn’t going to have the opportunity, at least not with John.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Ellie said.

It wasn’t the first time Ellie had said that to her. Beating down the urge to cry, Mairah momentarily distracted herself by wondering why she suddenly felt like crying at every little thing. After Gray, the tears had started, which had bothered her because she generally didn’t cry, but this impulse to burst into tears over everything from running out of toothpaste to forgetting to get her car keys from her locker was new. Mariah gave her a sad smile and then deflected Ellie away from questions about John.

She asked how Ellie was coping with Devon’s mother. Mariah had been the one Ellie ranted to when Honey Woodcomb was overbearing about the wedding, and as she had known it would, it got Ellie off the subject of John. She made sympathetic noises, and she bit back a smile when she thought about how John would offer to kill the woman if Ellie only asked. Well, he wouldn’t, really, since Ellie didn’t know what he actually did for a living, but he would have made the offer to Chuck—complete with guarantee that either the body would never be found or that no one would ever know murder was involved. He wouldn’t do it, though. Not without a justifiable reason for doing so.

At least she was pretty sure he really wouldn’t.

Out of the blue, Ellie asked, “Have you eaten?”

Mariah knew she should say yes, but she told the truth. “No.”

Ellie made her go upstairs and put shoes on. She followed Mariah up to her room, and when she said she should change, Ellie pointed out what she was wearing looked little different than other casual clothes would.

Chuck was on the sofa when she followed Ellie over. He looked at her and frowned. Ellie explained that Mariah was going to eat with them and sailed into the kitchen, telling Mariah to have a seat.

“She’s in mom-mode,” Chuck said. “You might as well just surrender to her stronger will.”

It was just the four of them, and Mariah was glad to not have Walker there, though she did wonder where the other woman was. It briefly occurred to her that Sarah Walker had avoided Mariah since John left, and that meant she must know where he was and why. Not that Mariah intended to ask, but she couldn’t help wondering when she’d be sent back to Canada.

Over the next few weeks, Mariah did her job. It kept her occupied, so it was only at night that she was haunted by John, something made worse by living in the same apartment they had shared. When General Beckman finally accepted one of her calls, the older woman told her she would stay in place and take over the surveillance of the Intersect. Walker would get another partner to help with protection and with mission support. The General offered no news about John, and Mariah didn’t ask.

She did as she was told, just as she had always done. She monitored Chuck, and she began to have some sympathy for John’s complaints about the geek-speak. After she sat through a four-hour debate on Marvel versus DC, she was ready to throttle Chuck or Morgan—or both of them. As an avowed Marvel girl, she was surprised she wasn’t more interested in the discussion, but it was a revisit of the Great Sandwich Debate, as John termed it, which really made her want to puncture her eardrums with an ice pick. The five hours she listened to made her feel sorry for John, who had had to listen to this for the better part of a year and a half.

Chuck, who knew who she was and what she did, came over one night and asked why she wasn’t the one who took John’s place. Mariah had felt a sharp moment of despair as she realized John really wasn’t coming back. She told Chuck it was because she wasn’t an American and because she lacked some of the skills John had provided. She finished with a lie, though it was one that might prevent Chuck from causing problems and had a kernel of truth in it: “I was never here to work on your detail, Chuck. I was here for John.”

“But you worked with him,” he said. “I don’t see why you can’t work with Sarah.”

Mariah looked at his earnest face, at those honest brown eyes, and she thought about what she had observed and what John had said to her several times. Chuck liked the comfort that came from the familiar, and he tended to assert himself when that familiar was disturbed. She said, “I work for an agency in another country with its own interests, Chuck. Those interests are not the same as the CIA’s or the NSA’s. I already know things about you I shouldn’t, so assigning an operative other than me is just another way to protect you.”

“But you worked with Casey,” he repeated.

“That was different. When we worked together, it was because our agencies had a common goal, and we were the logical operatives.”

Chuck sat back in John’s chair, one of the few things of his that had been left in the apartment. “But ISI is, in part, an umbrella organization,” he said. “Agents from various agencies worldwide get assigned to ISI.”

“But ISI operatives don’t usually get assigned to the NSA or the CIA,” she said softly. That was true. As far as she knew, she was the only exception. “This is their operation.”

“I don’t like the agent they sent,” he said.

She felt her heart hitch, but she masked her expression. “We can’t discuss this,” she told him. While she was sympathetic, she knew the surveillance on this room was now fed directly to Walker at Castle. Beckman had told her so during that one phone call.

Chuck slumped. “I thought we were friends.” Mariah didn’t know how to answer that, so she didn’t. “Friends talk about their lives, Mariah, and there aren’t many people I can talk to about this.”

She hated how easily he could get to her with those sad eyes and that appeal to his lost private life. “I know, Chuck, but we really can’t talk about this.”

“Then tell me why they sent Casey away.”

She sighed. “I can’t.”

“No,” Chuck bit out as he sat up, “you won’t.”

“Look,” she said sharply. “They didn’t send him away. He was called back to duty, to his real job, because they needed him. That’s all I can tell you.”

“You’re just like them,” he said bitterly. “No one ever tells me the truth.”

Mariah was pissed off enough that she said what she shouldn’t: “Welcome to the club, Chuck.” He shot her an angry, confused look. “They didn’t tell me, either. I just came home from work one day, and John was gone.”

“You didn’t know he was going.” It wasn’t a question, but Mariah answered it nonetheless.

“No. I knew it was possible, even probable, but I didn’t know he was leaving until he was already gone.” She hoped that would salvage whatever trouble she had just landed herself in. Then again, maybe Beckman would just send her home as punishment. The sooner she got away from here, the better.

“This is what really went wrong with you two before, isn’t it?”

She looked at him sadly. Nothing had gone wrong before. There had been no before. She and John had never met before this job. She sighed. One more lie, and if it helped, then it was probably worthwhile. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, it is.”

Chuck left not long after. Mariah, though, continued to sit there and think. If they were already forwarding the surveillance from here to Castle, they could do the same with the Bartowski feeds. They didn’t need her. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it before, so she didn’t understand why the General, who surely had thought of it, had left her here for the time being. After all, Beckman had all kinds of excuses she could use while John was gone. Maybe, Mariah thought, she should pay Mona a visit after her shift the next day and talk to her father about exercising some of those options.

 

\------- X -------

 

Casey leaned his chair back against the wall and put his feet up. After a month of hunting, his men were complaining about the lack of women and the lack of alcohol. Quite honestly, he sympathized. As he sat outside the gutted house he’d taken as his quarters, he missed his celebratory scotch. But he still had his cigar, he reflected, drawing deeply on it. This particular job was finally done, and he sincerely hoped he might get some R & R before he got his next assignment.

He released the smoke, eyes narrowed. Casey wondered if he would be headed back to Los Angeles. He wouldn’t mind getting back to civilization, and he certainly wouldn’t mind getting back to Riah. He let himself get caught in memories while he smoked. Hell, he’d even be glad to see Grimes if it got him back to Riah. Of course, they could decide to ship him to another part of the war or send him to chase down another warlord playing with Al Qaeda. They could decide to send him any number of places rather than send him home.

That last thought sobered him. Casey wondered if Riah could come to him if he got some leave, wondered if she was in Canada or somewhere else, and he weighed his best options to find out.

A man dropped into the seat next to him, jerking Casey’s attention back to his current surroundings. “Worth,” he said, recognizing the Canadian operative. The man wore his country’s infantry CADPAT, and a captain’s insignia decorated his shoulders. He knew the man worked with CSOR, but the last he’d heard, Jeremy Worth was still ISI. It irritated him when men like Worth who weren’t entitled to the uniform wore it. He supposed the CSOR assignment gave the man the right, but Casey still didn’t like it.

“Casey.”

He waited. He thought about offering the man a cigar, but they were for celebration purposes, and Worth hadn’t been there.

The other man studied him, apparently hoped the same tactic would work on him. Casey hid a smile. Riah was the only person who’d managed to crack him that way.

He grinned when ISI operative finally asked, “Any idea why I’ve been sent to find you?”

Casey nearly made a remark about learning from the master, but then it sank in. Worth had been sent—for him. He shifted in his chair, amusement gone. “What do you mean, sent to find me?”

“I got a call from the DG,” Worth said. “He handed me your picture, told me to find you and report your location when I did. Mind telling me what you’ve done to piss my boss off?”

If V. H. was pissed off at him, there were several possibilities, Casey realized, and they all revolved around Riah. He had left a note for her, Beckman had assured him she would make sure Riah knew he’d been called away, so he doubted V. H. thought he had abandoned her. V. H. knew they were sleeping together, so he further doubted the other man had sent Worth to find him because of that. It occurred to him that something might be wrong with Riah. He froze. When he could breathe again, he wondered how quickly he could get rid of Worth so he could safely call her.

“Wouldn’t know,” Casey said gruffly. He drew on the cigar again and thought hard. If she’d been hurt, Beckman would have told him—probably. Her father was unlikely to send an operative just to tell him that, though, and he felt dread settle in. If she’d been killed, he suspected Adderly would have simply seen to it he was notified. His chest tightened at the idea that that might be what Worth was there for. Even as he thought it, he dismissed it. Adderly wouldn’t waste the expense or the time of his best operative for a simple notification, even if it was Riah.

Casey finally lifted a brow and asked, “Didn’t he give you a clue?”

Worth laughed. “Not one, but I’ve rarely seen the man as angry as he was the day he sent me here.”

Angry, not worried. Worried would mean something happened to Riah. Angry implied he thought Casey did something, probably to Riah. He grunted, still certain V. H. wouldn’t have Worth hunt him down simply because Casey was sleeping with his daughter, especially since V. H. had already known. He racked his brain for what he could have done to offend the man.

“Want to find out if he’s still pissed off?” He looked up to see Worth holding out a secure satellite phone.

Casey instinctively wanted to say no. He couldn’t say he was in a hurry to find out why Riah’s father had gone to this much trouble to find him—and why he hadn’t simply called General Beckman and asked. Casey assumed he hadn’t if he had sent Jeremy Worth after him. On the other hand, Worth was going to call his boss and tell him he had found Casey regardless. Why not let the other man do it? “Not especially,” he said, “but go ahead and report in.”

He put his feet back on the ground as Worth placed the call. He scanned the camp they’d set up in the ruined village, listened as Worth went through the protocols to get through to Adderly. He finished his cigar and ground the butt out in the ashtray on the table before him. “Found him,” Worth said. Casey waited. “I’m looking at him.” A moment later, Worth held out the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”

Casey took the phone, placed it to his ear, and identified himself.

“Call my daughter.”

He frowned. That wasn’t what he’d expected, and he nearly said so. “Why?”

Even across thousands of miles he could feel the other man’s anger. “You left my daughter. She has no idea what happened to you, and she needs to hear from you.”

Casey processed that. Riah, apparently, hadn’t found his note—but considering he’d left it where she couldn’t miss it, that made no sense—nor had General Beckman spoken to her. That still didn’t explain why V. H. had gone to all this trouble to find him. There had to be more to it than Riah was worried and wanted to hear from him. Before he could formulate a response, Adderly continued.

“She assumed you’d been sent on a mission until she came home from work and found your things gone. Care to explain that?”

Now Casey was completely baffled. “I—“ he stopped. He had no intention of discussing this in front of an audience. “Worth, leave.” The other man grinned and just made himself more comfortable. Casey glared at him, but it had no effect. Casey finally stood and stalked off. “I have no idea what’s going on, V. H.,” he said. “I left Riah a note explaining I’d been called back and that I was being sent overseas for a job. I did not, however, have my things moved out of the apartment.”

The silence stretched, and Casey started to pace. When he realized what he was doing, he stopped, forced himself to be still. He was still struggling with the idea that Beckman not only hadn’t talked to Riah, but she had apparently moved his things out of the apartment. That meant she didn’t intend to send him back to Los Angeles.

“You really need to call Mariah, Casey.”

He looked over at where Worth still sat outside his quarters. “You didn’t send your best operative to find me just to tell me this, V. H. What’s going on?”

“Call Mariah.”

The worry that had nagged him earlier was back. “Is she alright?”

“Call Mariah.”

He felt the frustration grow, and Casey made a little effort to push it down. “I’m on a classified mission, V. H. I can’t call her. Just tell me what’s going on.” He waited for the other man to answer while the silence stretched.

Casey was just about to demand Adderly tell him when the other man finally spoke, his voice dangerously soft: “You were sleeping with my daughter, Casey.”

V. H.’s words froze him. After several moments of tense silence, Casey made himself relax.

“That gives her some rights,” her father continued. “One should be the right to common courtesy. Call her.”

Riah’s father wasn’t making threats, which Casey considered a good thing, especially since the man had resources he could send to see that Casey was seriously hurt or dead. Looking over at where Worth still sat, he realized he was looking at just such an asset. He returned to the idea that something was wrong with Riah. “Is she alright?”

“She is.” Casey relaxed somewhat, his mind racing for what other reason could explain why Adderly was so adamant he call Riah. “She needs to hear from you, Casey. She really needs to talk to you, and I need you to give her that opportunity.”

None of this made much sense to Casey. Riah knew the job. She knew he couldn’t just drop what he was doing and deal with whatever it was she wanted to talk about. Riah had his number. She could have called him. He might not have been able to answer the call, but she could have left him a message if it was urgent. There was no need to get her father involved, so Casey couldn’t imagine why she had done so. “Tell her to call me.”

“That’s just it.” Adderly paused, and Casey was right back to being worried. “She won’t.”

That stopped Casey’s thoughts. He tried to reason out why she apparently needed to speak to him but wouldn’t call him. Adderly kept asserting she was alright, but he also insisted Casey talk to her. He decided to come clean with V. H. “We’re getting orders any minute. I don’t know where I’ll be going, what I’ll be doing. I don’t know that I’ll have the time to talk to her even if I get through to her. Why don’t you just tell me what this is about?”

“You slept with my daughter, Casey,” the other man repeated. “That’s between you and Mariah, and you owe her. Mariah’s still in L.A. covering your ass, and she needs to hear from you. She needs to talk to you, and you need to be the one who calls her.”

Casey stared across the dirt road to where Worth was sprawled at the camp table. Riah had clearly not been released by the NSA if she was still in Los Angeles. He could try and catch her when he got off the phone with Adderly unless they called him for briefing on his next assignment. Since he hadn’t heard from Beckman yet, he assumed he was going to stay with his Special Forces team for the foreseeable future. That meant he wasn’t going home for a while. He wasn’t sorry about that—he liked what he did here, the thrill of the chase, the rush of closing for the kill or capture—but only moments ago he had longed to see her. That was the paradox he had to negotiate.

“I’ll call her,” he conceded gruffly.

“See that you do,” V. H. replied coolly and then disconnected.

He tossed the phone at Worth when he rejoined him. “You can go home now,” Casey told the other man.

“Want to tell me why I’ve been searching this godforsaken region for you?” Worth asked lazily.

Casey gave him a stony look and a curt, “No.”

Worth studied him. “If I were guessing—and I’m going to do just that—I’d say it had to do with Mariah. She’s the only thing I’ve ever known to twist V. H. up.” Casey kept his face blank, but he wasn’t too surprised the other man worked it out. “What did you do to the man’s daughter?”

“Nothing,” he grunted and gave the operative an even harder stare. He really didn’t want to discuss Riah with this man, not least because Worth would report anything he said back to her father.

Before Worth could say more, Casey’s second-in-command walked up and said, “Briefing in five.”

He acknowledged the salute and dismissed the man. “I’m sure you can find your way home from here,” he told the operative.

The Canadian grinned and nodded. “Happy hunting.”

He nodded in turn and made his way to where his men were already gathered. Casey took his place next to Miles for the briefing. Afterward, when he went to retrieve his gear, he reflected that there would be no reunion with Riah for a while yet. They were headed to Iraq. He glanced at his watch, calculated the time in Los Angeles, and as he walked slowly toward the waiting transport, he pulled his phone and placed the call.

Her voice sounded odd when she answered, thick, and he felt a stab when he realized she sounded as though she’d been crying. “Riah?” he asked as he waved back one of his men. She said nothing, so he repeated her name.

“John?” Her voice was a shaky whisper, one he could barely hear, and he wished desperately he was with her. He imagined several scenarios—Fulcrum had gone after her again, she was struggling with the PTSD, she had been hurt.

Another of his men walked toward him, Miles, this time, so he handed the younger man his duffel and motioned him off. “I don’t have very long,” he told her quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. I’m fine,” she said, and he heard more strength in her voice this time. Perhaps her father had been overreacting, he thought. Maybe she had simply been missing him, and V. H. had misunderstood. “You?”

He nearly told her he missed her, but his men were looking speculatively at him as they waited to board the chopper. “I spoke to your father,” he told her. “He’s worried about you.”

“He always worries about me.” He heard a hint of something in her voice, but he dismissed it as her usual resentment over the way V. H. tried to manipulate her career to protect her. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

Something warm spread through him when she said that. Her voice had the soft tone she mainly used late at night when he held her to him before they went to sleep. Casey suddenly realized he’d give anything to be beside her at that moment. Instead, he was surrounded by his men and about to step on a helicopter to take him just that much further away from her. “Riah, listen,” he said, dropping his voice as he let his men go ahead of him. “I didn’t have my things moved out. I think there was a misunderstanding or a miscommunication.” Miles gestured for him to hurry up, so he resumed walking forward. Casey heard her draw breath to speak, but he cut in. “I have to go. I’m getting on a chopper. We need to talk, but I don’t know when I’ll be able to either call you again or see you.”

Her okay was kind of shaky. Suddenly Casey didn’t know what to say, so he simply hung up, unwilling to tell her he missed her now that he was close enough to his men for them to overhear. He knew saying it would comfort her. It was certainly true, and he had made a decision in Chicago—after Chicago, too—not to lie to her if he could help it, but he couldn’t say something so personal in front of the men he commanded. He hoped she understood.

Several pairs of eyes looked at him, some amused, and some speculative. “Girlfriend?” Miles finally asked.

Casey grunted rather than answer. One of the lieutenants laughed and said, “Come on, Major! You’ve heard about our women. It’s your turn.”

He gave them a wry grin. “Unlike you ladies, I’m a gentleman.” That raised raucous laughter, and he grinned wider. He had no intention of talking about Riah the way these men talked about their wives, mistresses, girlfriends or whatever woman they had spent some time with. There were several catcalls, but he stood firm, refused to even tell them her name, told them only that she was none of their business.

When they were in the air and half his men were sleeping, Miles leaned over and asked, “The blonde in the blue dress?” Casey frowned at him. “The photograph in your quarters,” he explained.

He eyed the other man. He had kept Riah’s photograph next to his bunk when he had quarters available. He carried it with him when he didn’t. Casey realized he was curiously reluctant to confirm her identity for Miles, but then it occurred to him that Miles would still not know her name or how Casey knew her. He grunted an affirmative, and then closed his eyes to catch a little sleep. He presumed Miles did the same since he said nothing further.

Casey didn’t sleep, though; he thought about Riah and about the two phone calls, about V. H. sending Worth to find him only to tell him to call her. He thought about the implication that Riah had needed to talk to him, and then he thought about how she had said virtually nothing to him when Casey called her.

In fairness, he hadn’t given her the opportunity. V. H. had implied she needed to tell him something, but Casey couldn’t figure out what. If something had happened to Bartowski, he would have heard from Beckman or Walker. If Riah was hurt or ill, V. H. would have told him so rather than danced around whatever it was that had made him angry. For a moment, he entertained the notion that Riah was pregnant, but he dismissed it. They had been careful, and she was on the pill. Besides, he reasoned, if she was pregnant, she would have found a way to let him know.

He couldn’t stop the image that popped into his head: Riah, rounded with child. Casey couldn’t name the emotion spreading through him, but he realized he wanted that image to be real. He wondered what she would feel like. Would she be firm or soft? What would it feel like to touch her belly and feel his child move inside?

As quickly as those thoughts came, he squashed them. He’d made his choice long ago. Nothing had changed since he had turned his back on the notion of marriage, of fatherhood. As long as he was in this line of work, there would be no wife, no children, and since he couldn’t imagine life without his vocation, those things would never be a part of his life. He knew it was for the best. Even if things had changed, Casey was getting too old to think about raising kids he would only shortchange with long absences, and there was always the possibility he could be killed. He also knew that the idea of Riah pregnant was just that, an idea. She wasn’t pregnant or she would have said so. Perhaps something else was going on, but for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine what. He would call her again when he had the chance, would wait until he had both the time and the privacy to talk to her. Perhaps whatever it was would have sorted itself out by then.


	5. Chapter 5

As it turned out, Mariah didn’t go to the Buy More the next day. She woke up feeling unwell, and when she went downstairs to make coffee, she wound up bent over the toilet. She threw up another three times, and after the third time, she decided to just go back to bed. She called Chuck, told him she was sick, and then called the Buy More to tell them she wasn’t well and wouldn’t be in.

Every time she got up to eat something that day, she was nauseous. Ellie came over after her shift at Westside. The other woman brought her soup. Mariah was mortified that the second the normally appetizing scent filled her nose, she had to rush for the bathroom. After she returned to the living room, she swallowed down the remaining nausea, puzzled because the soup was, in fact, one of her favorites. Ellie took her temperature, which was normal, and then suggested perhaps she’d eaten something that gave her a tummy bug. She left Mariah the soup, told her to heat it up and eat some when she felt better. Then she returned to her own home after making Mariah promise to call if she needed her.

When she woke the next day, Mariah felt fine, so she wrote it off as just something she ate after all.

It happened again three days later. This time Mariah noticed it was smells that set her off every time. That seemed very odd to her. She made it to work, but when Jeff and Lester’s lunch delivery order showed up, she shoved away from the Nerd Herd desk and ran, barely making it to the bathroom before she vomited. She made the run another three times that afternoon. Chuck, apparently noticing her pallor, asked her if she was okay.

They had ridden in to work together since they were on the same shift. Chuck drove them home while Mariah closed her eyes for the trip. She felt worn out and a little nauseous. Chuck tried to make her go with him to the Bartowski apartment so Ellie could check her out. By then, Mariah had suspicions about what kept causing her bouts of illness.

She had called her aunt Lydia when she first started sleeping with John, had gone to her for an exam and a prescription for birth control pills, and Mariah knew she should call her now. She decided to find out if what she suspected was true before she did so, so she dressed as though she were going for a run and left the apartment. Ellie was on her way over, but she stopped, waited for Mariah to reach her.

“Chuck said you weren’t feeling well.”

Mariah shrugged. “No, I haven’t felt very well today, but I feel better now. I thought I’d take a short run before dinner.”

They made a little small talk, and then Ellie let her go. Mariah wasn’t going for a run, though; she was headed to the local pharmacy. She walked slowly when she left the apartment complex, wanting to draw this out long enough to look like she had done what she’d told Ellie she intended. When she reached the store, she took her time finding what she wanted, read the labels more thoroughly than was necessary, chose what she wanted, stood patiently in the longest line, and then made her way slowly home. She considered herself lucky not to have met anyone from the Bartowski household when she let herself in the apartment.

Upstairs in the bathroom, she removed the box from the bag, read the instructions inside, followed them, and waited. Then she sat there on the side of the tub, stunned, and stared numbly at the white stick that claimed she was pregnant.

Her reaction seemed odd to her, perhaps because she felt like she was looking at herself from somewhere outside. She knew it was just shock. She seized for a moment, afraid she’d have a panic attack, and she did what she had been taught to try and ward it off: breathed carefully but not too deeply, focused on happy thoughts. She had an uptick of panic for a brief moment when she realized the idea she was pregnant was a happy thought.

When she felt under control once more, she considered what came next: facing her parents and telling them, though she didn’t look forward to dealing with her mother given the circumstances; telling Emma, which would go relatively well; and then there was telling John.

Or not.

Mariah closed her eyes. John was a whole separate layer of fear. He had made it perfectly plain he didn’t want her to get pregnant, yet she had managed to do it anyway. Now he was gone without having left a single word for her. There were other emotional layers: the selfish layer where she feared what this meant to her career, the layer that doubted she could do this on her own, the one that worried she’d make any child of hers a bigger mess than she herself was.

She needed to talk to her aunt. Lydia would help her decide what to do, and, best of all, she wouldn’t be judgmental, would simply listen while Mariah sorted through her mess. When Lydia picked up, Mariah asked if she could come see her.

Her aunt paused before asking why. Mariah found she couldn’t get the words out. “Mariah, are you okay?”

She heard the concern in her aunt’s voice, and she burst into tears. “We’re coming over,” Lydia said. Mariah felt relieved until she realized what her aunt had said.

“We?” she asked cautiously.

“Your mother’s here.”

She panicked. “No!” She didn’t want anyone at the NSA to know just yet, and she could hardly take her mother and her aunt upstairs to have this conversation. Even if she did, she suspected her mother’s outrage would be loud enough for the downstairs surveillance to pick it up. “Let me come to you.”

“Mariah—“

“Lydia, the apartment has eyes and ears. I don’t need an audience for this.”

A long silence followed. Then Lydia gave her instructions for how to find her apartment.

 

It was Ariel Taylor who opened the door and hugged her when she burst into tears, and it was her mother who sat with her on the couch and held her while she cried. Mariah had told no one in her family that John had left, but she supposed her father surely knew. Apparently, he hadn’t shared the information with her mother. Ariel asked her about John, asked if he’d done something to her, and Mariah cried that much harder when she did. When she finally cried herself out, when she finally had herself under control, she sniffled and then baldly told her mother, “I’m pregnant.”

She felt her mother stiffen. “Oh, Mariah,” she said softly, and hugged her tightly. “Does Casey know?”

Mariah shook her head, and more tears came. “He’s gone, and I don’t know where he is.”

Ariel pulled her close again. “Mariah,” she said softly. “What do you mean he’s gone?”

She explained, told her mother that things had been going well, and then he was just gone, his things not long afterward.

Lydia handed her a glass of water and sat down on the other side of her. “I assume you took a home pregnancy test?” Mariah nodded. Her aunt said, “You’ll come in early with me, and we’ll run some tests, check a few things out, okay?”

“I have to work tomorrow,” she said, despite knowing the Buy More was the least of her worries at the moment.

“I promise to have you to the job on time,” Lydia said with a gentle smile. “Mariah, do you have any idea how far along you might be?”

She tried to count back, but she couldn’t remember when she’d last had her period. Lydia asked questions, and Mariah answered them as best she could. She told Lydia about what she now knew was morning sickness and about how her clothes were beginning to get a little snug. She told her she tired easily, especially in the afternoons.

When Lydia finally quit asking questions, her mother, who had largely been silent, asked, “Have you thought about what you want to do?” Mariah looked up at her and shook her head. She was still getting used to the idea that she was pregnant. She hadn’t had time to think about whether she wanted to have a baby or not. As soon as she thought it, though, she knew she did and said so. “Unlike a lot of women,” her mother said, “you can at least afford to raise a child on your own. It’ll mean significant changes in your career, and you should consider that. If you don’t want the child, well, there are options.”

“I need to think about it, Mum,” she said. There was no thinking about, though. She said what she did solely to placate her mother.

Ariel hugged her and kissed her cheek. “Whatever you want, Mariah. We’ll help you.”

And that, Mariah thought, was why despite how rarely her mother had been there when she was growing up, despite how often she lectured her about what she should do, despite how her mother disapproved of so much of her life, Mariah loved her. When she absolutely needed her, her mother was generally there, generally supportive, generally protective.

Lydia suggested she spend the night with them. Mariah nodded, suddenly too weary to go home, so she put on the pajamas her aunt found for her and crawled into bed. She called Sarah Walker and told her she was staying with her aunt since her mother was visiting. Mariah nearly panicked when the other woman asked how she was feeling, relaxed only when Walker went on to say Chuck had told her she hadn’t felt well lately. Mariah said she seemed to have some low-grade flu or something.

For once, she went right to sleep and stayed that way until morning.

 

The questionnaire Lydia had her complete seemed endless. It also drove home the fact that she knew very little about John when she was unable to answer much of anything other than date of birth, race, and occupation. She listed his military service there rather than his NSA affiliation since she had no idea who might see her paperwork in Lydia’s practice. She knew nothing of his medical history, knew nothing of his family history other than his father was deceased.

Lydia confirmed her pregnancy, talked to her about diet, about exercise, about taking prenatal vitamins, and she talked to Mariah about the changes her body would go through, about what would happen emotionally, and about the need for regular checkups.

When Mariah left, she had a lot to think about, so she remained distracted most of the day. It didn’t help that her father called midmorning and told her to phone him on her break. Her mother had, apparently, lost no time calling him. When she talked to him, confirmed she was pregnant, he offered to find John for her. She told him no. One thing she had decided was that she didn’t want John coming back solely because he felt responsible for her condition. If he came back, she wanted him to do so because he wanted her.

She didn’t want to admit that his paranoia about the chance of her getting pregnant made her want to keep him away until it was too late to do anything other than have the baby. It wasn’t fair, she knew, but it was how she felt. John had made it very clear that he didn’t want children. Mariah did, though she admitted this wasn’t the way she wanted them.

Mariah tried hard not to think about the possibility that if he knew, she might never see or hear from him again.

A pounding headache plagued Mariah most of the day. Lydia had told her to scale back her caffeine intake, so she had cut out coffee. On her afternoon break, she went to the coffee place down from Orange Orange where, after beating back temptation, she ordered a vanilla bean smoothie. She sat at one of the tables and read her morning newspaper.

“Hi.”

Mariah looked up to see a blond, blandly handsome man in a Large Mart vest. She returned to her reading.

“Mind if I join you?”

She looked up to say she did, only to find he’d already taken the chair opposite her.

“So you work at Buy More?” Since the clothes and her name badge made that obvious, she ignored his question, kept her eyes trained on the page in front of her. “I’m Tom, by the way. Tom Baker.”

She snorted at that. “As in _Doctor Who_?” she asked, but kept her attention on her newspaper.

“Ah, you do speak,” he said.

She ignored him.

“So,” he tried again, “I’m new here, and I wondered if you might like to show me around, maybe go to dinner.”

“I have a boyfriend,” she said, taking care to sound bored beyond belief, and turned the page. “He’s six-four and could kill you with his thumb—would, if he knew you were pestering me.”

He put a finger on the top of her newspaper and bent it down. “I don’t see a boyfriend.”

She stole one of John’s grunts and slipped the newspaper out from under Baker’s finger. She folded it and tucked it under her arm before she picked up her purse and cup. She stood and walked away, hoped he stayed seated because she wasn’t about to look around and possibly encourage him.

That evening, Chuck bummed a ride home with her, but she didn’t mind the company. What she did mind was seeing the man from the coffee shop entering an apartment across the courtyard. She made a mental note to find out when that apartment had changed tenants.

After she had changed and eaten a light supper, she settled on the couch with her aunt’s book. Several years earlier, Lydia had written a bestselling pregnancy book, and Mariah had swung by a bookstore and bought a copy. She had removed the dust jacket and left it upstairs to help hide what she was reading in case she was being watched. She flipped on the television to one of the twenty-four hour news channels to provide a little noise, but she set the volume low enough it was simply a murmur.

She was engrossed in her reading when she heard a knock on the door. She figured it for Ellie or Chuck, so she didn’t drop the alarm panel and look to see who was outside. When she opened the door, she wished she had. “Mr. Baker.”

He gave her a chagrined smile. “I just realized we’re neighbors.”

Mariah chose not to reply.

“I was serious about dinner, by the way,” he said, and he gave her what was probably a charming smile, though it did absolutely nothing for her.

“I was serious about the boyfriend,” she retorted, and moved to close the door.

“Wait!”

She stopped, waited, and was disgusted that she did so.

“We got off on the wrong foot,” he said. “Maybe we should try again.”

Mariah gave him a hard stare. “I don’t think so.” She closed the door, ignored his further protests.

She called Sarah Walker, explained that there was a new tenant in the complex and asked her to check him out. She gave the CIA officer Baker’s name and description then ended the call.

 

Two days later Mariah was bent over a laptop at the Nerd Herd desk. Anna Wu, who was also at the desk, said a soft, “Wow.” Mariah looked up and then followed Anna’s line of sight. A woman with a huge bouquet of roses approached the desk. Mariah felt a stab of jealousy that the other woman had someone who thought enough of her to send such gorgeous flowers. She wondered who that was since the Taiwanese girl and Morgan Grimes were currently on the outs.

“Mariah Taylor?” the woman asked, and Mariah blinked, shocked. Then warmth spread through her. They must be from John, she thought.

She tipped the delivery woman, and then she stood there, smiled like an idiot. They were beautiful, big, deep red blooms just beginning to open. Chuck walked up and said, “I see you heard from Casey.” Her smile broadened.

Jeff Barnes raised the first doubts for her, though, by asking, “What’s the occasion?”

Mariah’s smile faded a bit. It was a good question. John had only sent her flowers once, and she suspected that had been more about telling her he was coming to take her to dinner than for her birthday. She plucked up the envelope with the card. Her face hardened when she tore it open and read the enclosed card: _What does a guy have to do to get you to go to dinner with him?_ It was signed _Tom_. She made a disgusted sound and scooped up the flowers. “Right. I’ve had more than enough of this.”

She stalked out of the Buy More, headed toward Large Mart. She went straight to the customer service desk. “Where can I find Tom Baker?” she asked. Once the startled woman told her, she strode to electronics where she saw him leaning against the display case holding MP3 players. He straightened as she bore down on him. Mariah shoved the flowers at him and bit out, “Do the words _restraining order_ mean anything to you?”

He grinned at her. “I take it you didn’t like the flowers.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Leave me alone,” she ground out. “For the last time, I’m taken.”

His grin broadened. “Really? You don’t wear a ring, and I haven’t seen you with anyone.”

“Dude, remember when we told you about that big, scary guy from the Buy More?” someone squeaked to Mariah’s left. She didn’t turn to see who, kept her furious stare on Baker, who turned to set the vase of roses on the counter behind him. “That’s his girlfriend,” the squeaky voice continued. “You _really_ don’t want him pissed off at you.”

“Frankly, you don’t want me pissed off at you, either,” she said tightly. “Leave me alone. Got it?”

“Going to sic your invisible boyfriend on me?” Her temper ticked up at the taunt, especially since she couldn’t actually send John after him, not that she would have anyway, since she generally believed in solving her own problems. Baker crossed his arms, clearly not in the least intimidated. “You can’t blame a guy for trying,” he added as a hint of a smirk crossed his features.

“Oh, but I can,” she ground out before she turned to walk away. Mariah saw that Chuck had followed her, but she ignored him as she walked past him. Sarah Walker was there, too. As she continued out the door, it occurred to Mariah that there was something going on she ought to know, but she was too angry to question it then.

She seethed the rest of the day. After a couple of days, Mariah began to relax, thought he had finally gotten the message, but Baker caught her on her way to break one afternoon, cornered her against the Buy More’s concrete wall. “Look,” he said, “you and I both know there’s no boyfriend, so why don’t you be a little more friendly.” He raised his brows. “Let me take you to dinner tonight.”

Mariah felt her chest tighten, knew it was partly panic at how he crowded her and partly pain that it was true there was no boyfriend. “Approach me again,” she said through gritted teeth, used the anger she felt toward John to lend some weight to her words, “and I’ll file a complaint.”

Baker gave her that All-American smile; Mariah had an almost overwhelming urge to hit him. He stroked her cheek, and she flinched. “I like a woman with a little fire,” he told her. Mariah was certain most women would find that voice of his sexy, but it left her cold and more than a little tense. “You’re pretty when you’re angry.”

“Leave me alone.” She hoped that came out with authority. At least he backed off, let her go where she was headed, but she decided she’d spend future breaks in the Buy More.

A few days later, she came home to more flowers and a note on her doorstep. Mariah opened the note only long enough to see his name at the bottom before she picked up the daisies and walked to the dumpster, shoved them inside before returning to let herself into her apartment. Chuck, who had been with her, followed her. “Mariah,” he said. “What’s going on?”

Turning to him, she snapped, “Our new neighbor, the one who works at Large Mart, keeps hitting on me.”

Chuck’s mouth worked a second, but no words came out. Finally, he said, “About that.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Awesome likes him. Apparently, they’re both into extreme tiddlywinks or something.” He bit his lip nervously. “I know Ellie invited you to dinner tonight, and he’s going to be there.”

She ground her teeth a moment. “Tell your sister I’m not feeling well.”

Chuck took her by her arms, but she jerked away from him. “Mariah, please come. I don’t like him any more than you do, and neither does Sarah. Ellie certainly doesn’t like him.”

Mariah sighed. “Really, Chuck, I’m tired, and I don’t want to sit at the same table with that man.”

“I get it, Mariah. I get that you miss Casey, and I get that Tom’s persistent—and maybe a little creepy—but Ellie’s worried about you, and she’ll only worry more if you don’t come.”

That was certainly true, Mariah thought. Ellie was her self-appointed watchdog, and if she didn’t show for dinner, Ellie would come over after her. “You don’t play fair, Chuck.”

He grinned at her. “Does that mean you’re coming?”

She nodded and glanced at the clock. “I don’t suppose you’d wait for me to change and then walk me over?”

Chuck dropped onto the couch and picked up the remote control.

Mariah flipped through the clothes in her closet, realized she was going to have to buy new ones before much longer, and to hold the panic that thought induced at bay, she finally pulled a French blue cotton blouse from its hanger. She buttoned it and pulled on a pair of jeans that used to be loose on her but now were snug in the waist, realized that when she had to start wearing looser clothing, it would be harder to hide that she was pregnant. She fished through her jewelry box for a pair of cufflinks, located a set of plain gold ovals, one slightly bent, from the turn of the twentieth century that she had bought in a vintage clothing store several years earlier. She threaded them through the French cuffs of the blouse and stepped into a pair of simple sandals, and considered how to get her father to recall her before she had to reveal that she was having a baby.

Downstairs, Chuck sat looking at a book. Mariah froze on the last step when she realized what he held. He’d heard her on the stairs and stood, the book in his hand. He lifted it but said nothing. She walked to him, took it, looked at the spine, and said, “My aunt is Lydia Pentangeli.”

“So you’re reading this because she wrote it?” he asked. Mariah could hear the plea to confirm his conclusion behind the words.

“In part,” she said. She studied him a moment. She could read his face plainly, could see concern, could spot a slight panic in his eyes. She wondered at that panic, wondered if he’d do something foolish, wondered if he’d tell John, and for the first time it occurred to her that he might know where John was. Mariah sucked in a breath, felt tears well, and made herself not ask. Then, she felt her own panic, closed her eyes tightly a moment, and said, “I don’t want anyone to know, Chuck.”

“So you’re . . . ?“ he asked, waving a hand at her abdomen. She nodded. “And Casey?”

She shook her head. Then she chewed her lower lip, thought carefully. “I don’t know where he is, Chuck, and I have no way to get in touch with him. Even if I could, I’m not sure I would.”

“Wh-why not?” She could read the confusion on his face, in his eyes, and she wished she had simply said nothing.

“He doesn’t need to worry about me if he’s deep undercover, and he is, or I would have heard from him by now.” It was a lie, she acknowledged, but until she was told otherwise, she would maintain the cover. “In the meantime, I’m not ready to tell anyone, so I’m going to ask you to keep this to yourself. Don’t even tell Sarah, okay?”

“Ellie—“

“Not even Ellie,” she cut him off. “I’m still getting used to it myself. I’m just not ready to share it, especially since I can’t tell John. He really should have been the first to know.”

When she had his promise not to tell anyone, they went to the Bartowski apartment together. Ellie gave them an odd look when they walked in; even Sarah Walker’s look was speculative. Mariah had clearly changed from work, something Chuck was now on his way to do. Mariah asked if there was anything she could do to help Ellie, who quickly put her to work setting the table. As she placed the last fork, Devon and Baker came in, laughing. She was suddenly tense. Mariah wondered why her reaction to Baker was always such strong dislike.

Devon introduced the two of them, and when Baker held out his hand and said, “Call me Tom,” Mariah gave him a placid stare and ignored the hand. She didn’t much care that she was being rude. She watched his smile fade as he dropped his hand. She joined Ellie in the kitchen. The other woman looked at her oddly, but she gave Mariah a task to keep her in the kitchen while the others sat in the living room. Once a conversation was underway among the others, Ellie quietly asked what was wrong. Mariah sighed, dropped her shoulders and shook her head. She told Ellie, “I know I was rude, but the guy has been hitting on me for a couple of weeks.”

Ellie grimaced and told Mariah, “That’s tacky. It’s a shame John isn’t here to set him straight.”

Mariah fought back tears a moment. She wished desperately that John was there, wished he would at least call so she could hear his voice. As time passed, she understood that John had left her, but while her emotions see-sawed all over the place, she could use some reassurance. At this point, she would settle for a confirmation that they were finished just to get rid of the uncertainty that gnawed at her.

They sat down to dinner, and Mariah was glad Ellie had put out water glasses in addition to wine glasses. It made it easier for her since she wouldn’t have to drink the wine, which would lead to questions she really didn’t want to answer. She found herself seated between Devon and Baker, but at least Chuck was across from her.

Ellie had prepared three courses, and as the first was being replaced by the second, Baker said, “Well, Mariah, I finally get to have dinner with you.”

She gave him her own version of John’s Death Glare but said nothing.

Ironically, it was Devon who told him, “Whoa, dude. Not cool. Mariah’s taken.”

Baker smiled, “So I’ve been told, but I still haven’t seen the guy.”

“He’s serving his country,” Mariah tersely explained.

Ellie, on her way back to her seat, detoured to the bookcase and took down a picture frame. There were four photographs in the frame, one of Ellie and Devon, one of Chuck and Sarah, one of Ellie and Chuck, and one of John and Mariah. She hadn’t seen that picture before, but she recognized the day it was taken. About a month before John had left, they had all gone to the beach. Ellie had apparently caught her and John when they walked away from the others for a little privacy. In the photograph, John leaned down toward her, had been about to kiss her, his hands at her waist and hers on his chest. There had been a picture of just Mariah from that day in their living room, but it had vanished when John did.

Baker nodded at the picture before giving Mariah a sly smile. “You weren’t kidding about him being a big guy.”

She gritted her teeth and checked her temper. He’d made it sound like John was fat, and that picture was evidence that he was anything but.

Ellie took the frame from him while Sarah started talking about a customer who had brought a set of triplets into the Orange Orange that day. She described the mayhem they created in vivid detail. Mariah pushed the food around her plate, missed John even more, and wondered if Ellie would give her a copy of that photograph.

The rest of dinner passed a bit more pleasantly allowing Mariah to begin to relax. Unfortunately, Baker noticed she wasn’t drinking the small amount of wine she’d allowed Devon to pour in her glass. The man pointed it out, asked what was wrong with it. Mariah’s jaw locked a moment before she bit out that there was nothing wrong with it. She had a moment of inspiration and added, “I take antidepressants.”

Chuck came to her rescue, or at least she thought he was coming to her rescue, but he blew it by asking, “Have you heard from Casey?”

Mariah wished he’d asked anything else, especially since he knew she hadn’t. Her face likely showed it. She supposed it was better than him having said something that exposed her secret, so she shook her head, made a half-hearted comment about how John couldn’t easily call.

Baker, of course, slid in, “These days soldiers can call home pretty easily, what with Skype, satellite phones and all. Then there’s e-mail, Facebook—but I suppose you know that.”

Mariah turned to glare at him. She did know it, and she was sorely tempted to stick her steak knife in him. She’d had more than enough of the man, so it didn’t help that he seemed determined to taunt her about John. She focused a moment on her breathing, willed herself to calm down, wondered, briefly, why her emotions ran from one extreme to another and nearly beyond her control. “I’m well aware of that,” she finally said. “John’s job is such that it isn’t possible.”

There was a look in Baker’s eyes that made her want to hit him. She studied the even, non-descript features of his face while those stereotypical blue eyes of his laughed at her. There was something about him she was missing, and that look, all hidden amusement at her expense, told her there was something else going on there. She’d known there was something off with the guy, and now she had warnings signaling all over the place. Admittedly, she had been the first to bring John up in their encounters, but Baker hadn’t backed off. She took a closer look at him: he was arrogant, fit, deceptively muscular, and he had the bearing she should have recognized the moment she met him.

She stared at John’s replacement.

Tearing her eyes away from him, Mariah was glad the conversation had moved on without her. She fought back the stabbing sense of loss, struggled against the impulse to burst into tears, but then she subtly caught Chuck’s attention and raised an angry brow. Chuck flushed dark red, and she knew her guess was right. With everything else, she had been too distracted to pick up on what Baker’s presence meant.

Suddenly very, very tired, Mariah couldn’t help but wish dinner had reached a stage where she could easily excuse herself and go home. She refused dessert when it was offered, told Ellie she couldn’t possibly eat any more. She helped Ellie serve, though, in part to move away from Baker who had taken to leaning toward her as he spoke to Devon. Mariah’s claustrophobia was rearing its head, and being able to get up and breathe freely felt good. She also helped Ellie clear the table to keep from having to sit with the others in the living room where she suspected Baker would maneuver it so that he was seated next to her.

She told her brain to shut up, but Baker unnerved her. When the dishes were washed, dried, and put away, Mariah told Ellie she was tired and thought she would just go home. Ellie made a token protest, but she relented when Mariah told the other woman she wasn’t sleeping well and thought she’d go home and go to bed. She sailed through the living room, saying a general good night as she made her way to the door.

Thankful Baker hadn’t followed her, she let herself in the apartment and set the security system. She went upstairs to the room she had shared with John and just rolled into a ball on his side of the bed. She felt stupid when she burst into tears.

When her BlackBerry rang, she almost didn’t answer it. She blew her nose on a tissue from the box she’d grabbed on the way up and, since it continued to ring, answered.

Mariah thought at first she was having an auditory hallucination. She could swear it was John’s voice in her ear, but she was pretty sure that was impossible. “Riah?” he repeated. She heard an anxious note and what sounded like the chop of helicopter rotor blades in the background.

“John?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“I don’t have very long.” She felt her heart pound, felt euphoric joy dancing through her. “Are you okay?”

Mariah knew she was grinning like an idiot. “Fine,” she said. “I’m fine. You?”

“I spoke to your father,” John said, and her spirits plummeted. “He’s worried about you.”

“He always worries about me,” she said. Surely, her father hadn’t told John she was pregnant? “I’m glad you’re safe.” Mariah was so relieved to hear from him, to know he was on the other end of the phone, and to know that, apparently, he’d thought of her—even if her father had prompted him.

“Riah, listen,” he said, and she heard other voices in the background. “I didn’t have my things moved out. I think there was a misunderstanding or a miscommunication.”

She started to ask if he’d talked to General Beckman, but he cut in. “I have to go. I’m getting on a chopper. We need to talk, but I don’t know when I’ll be able to either call you again or see you.”

Mariah barely had time to say okay, let alone anything else, before he had to hang up and go.

On the one hand, she had a ridiculous smile plastered on her face. On the other, her all-too-brief conversation with John had to be one of the most unsatisfactory discussions she’d ever had. She should have told him she was pregnant, but the reasons she’d given Chuck were valid still, very much so. He was clearly not coming home any time soon, and she’d bet he had been given yet another assignment.

But he’d called her, and that had to mean something.

Mariah went downstairs for some water, lost in thought as she mentally replayed the phone call again and again. There was a knock on the door as she headed back up the stairs. She’d learned her lesson, so she dropped the panel beside the door and looked at the screen it exposed. Baker stood on her doorstep, but she had no intention of opening the door to him. She was pushing the button to raise the panel again when he said loudly enough for her to hear, “Agent Adderly, we need to talk.”

His reference to her status and her actual surname confirmed her earlier guess. She stood there, debated. Talking to John had been unsatisfactory, but she didn’t want to ruin the bit of happiness it had given her by talking to Baker. On the other hand, if he was taking John’s place with the Intersect, she would have to deal with him sooner or later. Mariah sighed; then she punched in the code to turn off the alarm system and opened the door. She stepped outside and closed the door behind her rather than invite Baker inside.

It didn’t much surprise her when he said, “I think we should have this conversation in private.” He gestured at her door.

She folded her arms over her chest. “I’m sure you’re aware my living room is no more private than this. We’ll talk here.”

He eyed her for a moment, and Mariah was pleased that this time Baker appeared to be all business. “I’m here to take Major Casey’s place.”

Mariah nodded.

Baker seemed startled by her own lack of surprise at his announcement, and he obviously waited for her to say something. When she didn’t, he continued, “I expected to move into the Major’s quarters.”

She gave him a hard stare. _Over my dead body_ , she thought, though she immediately acknowledged that was a decided possibility given what she knew about Chuck. She maintained the stare.

“Alternate quarters were found for me.”

Mariah nodded once more.

“I need access to some of the Major’s equipment.”

She lifted a brow. John’s equipment was mostly gone, and she could think of no real reason why Baker would need access to what was left. Surely the General had provided the same equipment to the man in front of her. “Give me a list, and I’ll see you get what you need.”

“It would just take a moment,“ he began, but Mariah cut him off.

“You’re not coming in. Not now, not ever.”

He frowned, and she noted he looked pissed off. That actually helped her regain some of the happy feeling John’s call had given her. “We’re on the same side here.”

She gave him a skeptical grunt.

“Look—“

“No,” she cut in sharply. “You look. I’ve always been a silent partner in this operation. It isn’t my primary directive. I don’t have to play nicely with you, and I won’t, quite frankly.” Why she thought _Resistance is futile_ , she wasn’t really sure, but she was just angry enough to hold a hard line. If nothing else, she was certain Baker would run straight to Beckman, and that just might gain her a few more explanations than she had so far been given.

He put his hands on his hips, looked seriously pissed off. Mariah didn’t much care. “I was told you would cooperate.”

“That depends on what you need.” Perhaps she was being petty, but it felt good. She was mad as hell about John, and it was nice to have a convenient target on whom to vent her frustration. That she felt Baker deserved it for the games he’d tried to play with her absolved her from feeling guilty.

“I understand you were posing as Casey’s girlfriend.”

“It wasn’t a pose.”

He gave her a sort of crooked, knowing smile that made her want to knock it right off him. “According to Beckman, it was.”

“I’m not John’s cover.” It might have been more accurate to say she was no longer John’s cover, she supposed, but she would go with the truth as it stood. Beckman knew circumstances had changed, and Mariah wondered why she hadn’t told Baker.

“And I suppose Casey whispered secrets to you at night?” he asked with what Mariah thought was a nasty tone of voice.

Her jaw went rigid, and her eyes narrowed. She was getting really tired of people assuming John spilled classified information when they were in bed. Anyone who knew him would know better. “Firewall,” she said tartly. “I have to protect my agency as much as he has to protect his.”

“Then why are you still here?” Baker asked. “They had to move someone else out of the complex to get me in. Frankly, this apartment has the better vantage point.”

She shrugged, tired of this. It was going nowhere, and she wanted to go inside and close the door—with Baker on the other side of it. She was tempted to ask if the agent was jealous, but that would be juvenile. She decided not to answer his question, especially given she wasn’t at all sure why she was still there herself. Beckman could have just had her moved out when she took John’s things—and she assumed it was Beckman who had removed his things since John had disavowed any knowledge that it had been done.

In that moment, it finally occurred to Mariah that she didn’t know how John knew what she had thought.

The answer was simple, though: _Dad_.

Her parents had clearly been meddling in her life again. Her mother had called her father, and John had admitted he’d talked to him. Her father must not have told John about the baby, though, since John had said nothing about it. On the other hand, it had been clear from the background noise that John hadn’t been alone, so she doubted he would bring the subject up unless he was—assuming he actually knew.

“You can play the stone-cold bitch all you want,” Baker said, cutting in on her convoluted thoughts. “You’re going to have to cooperate with me, and that means I need access.”

“Access to what?” she asked, choosing to play ignorant.

“I told you. Major Casey’s equipment.”

She gave him a hard glare. “Have Beckman make a formal request.” With that, she turned and went inside. When Baker tried to follow, she put an elbow in his gut, and when he doubled over, she shoved him back. What she had wanted to do was plant an elbow in his face, black his eye or break his nose, but she didn’t want to deal with the fallout from doing so. She closed and locked the door, set the security system once more.

It didn’t occur to her until she was in bed that she had probably not only made an enemy but had just given Beckman a reason to send her home. She wasn’t entirely sorry on either account.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note:
> 
> One of the reasons “Forging a Life” ended where it did is this and the next few parts. When “Chuck vs. the Tic Tac” aired, I went, “Crap!” This and the next two hundred pages were already long written, and I decided they were definitely not going to work.
> 
> The next morning, I had to leave for Louisville, Kentucky, and I got up still trying to figure out what to do with this monster story that now wasn’t going to work. I had a five-hour drive to think about that, a couple of nights with some fine bourbon and my laptop when I wasn’t in meetings, but I still decided that the way this plays out would be too much coincidence even in the realm of fiction. I confess, though, that when I left Louisville for Chicago, I was still trying to find a way around the reveal.
> 
> Because this bit of the story line threads through the rest, when I decided to post this version, I intended to rewrite and edit the baby out. Then, I decided it was too much work to do so, and it was pretty pivotal to a couple of things that come up later on. I have, therefore, decided to be a lazy writer and leave it as it was originally written.
> 
> Throw things at me if you like. I have a very thick skin.
> 
> Having said that, we get back to Casey next week, but for the next several weeks you’ll get both POVs since there are things in Mariah’s that are important to know down the road and I can’t figure out how to do it without having to add a lot of explanation later.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning Beckman’s face filled the large screen on the wall while Mariah sat at the table eating breakfast. She set her fork down and acknowledged the General. She had some trepidation, certain Baker had reported back what she’d said to him, that she’d been uncooperative.

“Miss Adderly,” the woman said tartly. “I understand you met Agent Baker last night.”

“I met him a couple of weeks ago,” she corrected, just to be pissy. “For the record, had he identified himself to me then, he might have found me a bit more accommodating. Also for the record, General, I am quite happy to leave this apartment and even Los Angeles. We can say John’s going back to military service permanently, so I’m moving to base housing where he will be stationed. I’m certain ISI would be pleased to have me back with them rather than seconded to the NSA.”

“That will not be necessary,” the General said, her voice taking on a more neutral tone which raised several suspicions for Mariah. “I would, however, like to hear more about why you refused to assist Agent Baker.”

Mariah considered her words. It would do her no good to be snotty about it, which was certainly her first instinct. If she played this right, she might even get Beckman to tell her more about where John was. “I had only his word for who he is and what he’s doing here, General. John would not appreciate, nor I assume would you, my simply opening up his home and access to NSA equipment to someone without verifying his legitimate need to do so.”

She saw something spark in Beckman’s eyes. She wasn’t sure what it was, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“He has a legitimate need, Miss Adderly, but your point is well taken.” The General leaned forward. “I think, for the time being, that we will continue to deny him access to the apartment. However, if you are asked for surveillance feeds, supply those to him. If he needs anything else, we will let you know.”

Reading between the lines, Mariah considered the possibility that Beckman wasn’t at all comfortable with Baker. Then she reconsidered. He wouldn’t be there, presumably, if the General didn’t trust him. She nodded an acknowledgement.

When Beckman sat back, the General reached out to a keyboard. Mariah saw that the cameras in the living area of her apartment powered down. She assumed the audio went off as well. “Unless there’s surveillance I’m unaware of, Miss Adderly, your location is now secure. We need to talk.”

Mariah did not like the sound of that at all, especially not when she considered what the likely topic of that conversation might be. She’d been less than discrete when she and Chuck had spoken of her pregnancy in this very space.

“I have spoken to your father,” the other woman said.

It occurred to her that her father had suddenly turned remarkably chatty with the Americans, and it irritated her that apparently he felt compelled to talk to everyone but her. Mariah sat and waited for the General to continue.

When it was clear she would make no response, Beckman spoke. “You should be aware that I had your apartment searched a few days ago.”

Her chin lifted. “And what did you find?”

“The team who removed Major Casey’s personal belongings reported that the two of you were sharing a bedroom. The more recent search revealed some rather interesting reading material on your night stand and prenatal vitamins in your kitchen. Is there something I should know, Miss Adderly?”

Instinctively, she nearly denied it. Instead, Mariah sat back and stared at the other woman’s image. “I assume that question is rhetorical since you clearly know the answer.”

“Are you pregnant?”

She stared back at the other woman. There had to be a reason she was asking, given she had as much as admitted she knew, but it interested Mariah that she had shut down the surveillance before doing so. She wondered why the General didn’t want anyone to know they’d had this conversation.

“Let’s assume that you are,” Beckman finally said as the silence stretched. “Let’s also assume that the Major is responsible.” Mariah said nothing, not even when the other woman lifted a brow. “Does Casey know?”

Face impassive, Mariah considered her options and weighed possible responses on the General’s side. If she told the truth and the General wanted to permanently separate her from John, she could get the equivalent of a deportation order. That, however, would not necessarily prevent Mariah from finding him and telling him. If she seriously wanted them apart, Mariah might be going home in a box—or simply disappear, her knowledge that Chuck Bartowski was the Intersect serving as justification. If she lied and said yes, then there were other possible scenarios. She breathed in slowly. Then there was always the possibility that the General didn’t care one way or another. Yeah, right, the sarcastic little voice in her head said. John was her pet agent. Anything that potentially distracted him from the job was a danger to the General and to her projects.

“Your father requested I have Casey call you. I presume that means he doesn’t know.”

She already knew her father had meddled. While she considered options for responding, she watched General Beckman relax her posture. “You’ve served us well, Mariah,” she said. “I realize you uprooted your life, I know you’ve had difficult issues to deal with, and you’ve managed to maintain your professionalism.” Mariah heard the unvoiced _but_ , and she wondered about the General’s use of her first name, something she almost never did. She was also surprised the other woman singled out professionalism as something she had done well. Surely getting personally involved with the team leader was a mark of less than professional behavior, not to mention opening up the possibility for both her and John to be dismissed for an inappropriate personal relationship.

When Mariah remained silent, the General continued. “Major Casey is needed elsewhere, and I need him focused on the job at hand, not on what’s going on in Los Angeles. You thought fast and preserved his ability to return to Operation Bartowski when it becomes necessary, and for that I am grateful.”

Considering she had removed John’s belongings—Mariah was now certain she had ordered it done—she wondered if the woman thought she was genuinely stupid. Then, she reconsidered. Probably John was coming back but she was leaving. This was beginning to sound like a dismissal, and it pissed her off, not least because she was just labeled a distraction for John. She decided then not to fight it despite the instinct to do so. “When should I be prepared to leave?”

The General’s face went tight. “You aren’t leaving. At the moment, Chuck trusts you far more than he does Agent Kavanaugh.”

“Who?” Mariah reflexively asked, thoroughly confused since she thought John’s replacement was Baker. Then she realized Baker was an alias. She could tell Beckman was upset by her own slip with the name, and Mariah thought it rather telling that the other woman, who never made a verbal misstep, had done so.

“Tom Baker is really Robert Kavanaugh, Miss Adderly. Be that as it may, I would like you to remain where you are for the foreseeable future. If you prefer, I will have requests for your cooperation come through Agent Walker rather than Agent Kavanaugh.”

“I would far prefer that.”

Beckman gave her an assessing look. “Are there issues with Agent Kavanaugh, Miss Adderly?”

Mariah sighed. She thought a moment and then decided diplomacy might be her best option. “I think he and I got off on the wrong foot. At first, I thought he was trying to hit on me. Now, though, perhaps he was only trying to gain access to the apartment.”

“Describe ‘hit on’ you?” The temperature of the General’s voice was arctic. Mariah did, from the coffee shop to the flowers, all of it, as objectively as she could manage. “Is there anything else?”

She wondered if she should say it. She finally decided discretion was the better part of valor. “No.”

The General gave her another appraising look. Silence stretched, and Mariah waited. Finally, the other woman said, “I will inform Agent Walker that your status in this operation will change.” She sat back and looked through the monitor at Mariah. “I need Chuck Bartowski protected at all costs, so I think we will make you a fully operational member of the team.”

Mariah sat straighter, thought hard. She was not an American agent, and this was their operation, one on which knowledge of who and what Chuck Bartowski really was remained a close secret. She wondered if she was being bought off—made a part of the team only to be kept as much on the periphery as she had previously been to buy compliance. She knew the General was pragmatic, would do whatever it took to get her way, and if that meant bringing Mariah into the operation to keep her from telling John she was pregnant, Mariah suspected the General wouldn’t be above offering what she thought might be an appropriate bribe. The problem was Mariah really didn’t want to be an operational member of Team Chuck, especially not now. She breathed in and then released the breath. “Ma’am, I may not be the best choice for this. I’m having some,” she paused, chose her words carefully, “physical issues, and they sometimes keep me off the cover job. I have limited usefulness to the team when I have physical limitations that could interfere.”

Beckman’s brow shot up again. “Before you and Casey made your relationship personal, his professional assessment of you was that you are capable though sometimes overly cautious. He admits you are not quite as skilled at personal combat as Agent Walker, but he says you think well on your feet. He believes, and I concur, that we can trust Mr. Bartowski with you despite your limited experience compared to himself or to Agent Walker. Was he wrong?”

John was loyal, almost blindly so, but it made Mariah feel good to hear the General’s words. Despite her certainty that she was making a mistake, that she should simply ask to be sent home, she told the General, “I will do what I can.”

“That’s all I ask.” The General’s face was replaced by the Department of National Intelligence seal.

Mariah was distracted at the Buy More, returned again and again to her morning conversation with General Beckman. She would do her job, but she would feel much better if she discussed this latest wrinkle with her father. On her break, she found a quiet place and made the call. Her father, predictably, saw a golden opportunity. Having Mariah more fully part of the NSA/CIA team was a potential boon to ISI, and he was more than willing to exploit it. Mariah balked. “Dad,” she said quietly, “I don’t think I can do that.”

There was silence on the other end. “Mariah, it’s what we do.”

She bit her lip. There was truth in what he said. Most agencies exploited what they learned from one another, but she felt dishonest and disloyal. She was relatively certain John had passed on what little he had learned about ISI from her, but she had not done the reverse. She had never revealed that Chuck was the Intersect, had only mentioned, when asked, that he appeared to be an analyst. She knew her first loyalty was supposed to be to ISI, but, increasingly, she found her loyalties had shifted. She felt the need to protect Chuck, but most of all she felt the need to protect John. That troubled her.

“I know, Dad, but if the Americans want to make me part of the operation, I presume that means I’m subject to their rules about disclosure.”

“There’s disclosure, Mariah, and then there’s disclosure.” She heard a grim humor in her father’s voice. “Listen, honey, do what you have to do.”

When the call was over, she wondered at the disappointment she felt. Somehow, she realized, she had hoped her father would bring her home. He was clearly not going to do that, so unless she wanted to quit—and she had never quit in her life—she would simply have to deal. She did a fast check of her e-mail and found Beckman had sent her access codes for Castle. She sat and stared at the screen a moment. There was something about this that made her very, very nervous.

When Agent Walker came over just before Chuck was due to go to lunch, she approached Mariah. “Why don’t you join us for lunch?” the blonde asked.

Jeff had walked up behind Walker and said, “I’ll join you. You haven’t lived until you’ve experienced the Jeff Barnes sandwich.”

Mariah eyed Walker, who barely disguised her disgust. Mariah had to admit the nausea she felt probably was not pregnancy-related. “I think Lester was looking for you.” When Jeff had disappeared, she looked back at Walker.

“Have you read your e-mail?” Walker asked.

She nodded at the CIA officer.

“We’ll need to take a retinal scan and feed it into the security system,” the other woman said softly. “If you can come now, we’ll take care of it.”

Chuck walked up, and Walker reached up to kiss him. Mariah envied them, even though she knew their relationship was a cover. It was clear to anyone looking at them that there was a genuine attraction between the two of them, but Walker had so far resisted letting things progress beyond agent and asset. Sadness knifed through Mariah as she thought of John, wondered again where he was.

The three of them left the Buy More together. As they made their way to the Orange Orange, Walker mentioned she’d ordered lunch for them all. Once inside, Walker began to explain how the security system worked. Chuck helped with the retinal scan. Then they sat at the large stainless steel table and ate the sandwiches Walker had ordered.

As Mariah and Chuck were about to leave and return to the Buy More, Kavanaugh came in. She felt Chuck stiffen beside her, but she kept moving toward the door. Kavanaugh moved to block her way, but she simply stepped around him and kept going.

As they crossed the parking lot, Chuck asked, “Does this mean he’s leaving?”

Glancing across at him, she said, “Unfortunately, no.”

“But you’re going to be working with Sarah, so he can go, right?”

“Not the way it works, Chuck,” Mariah said, and then she stopped. There was no audio out here, and they could talk. “This doesn’t change my status—or Baker’s.”

“You know his name’s not really Baker, right?” Chuck raised his brows. “I mean, come on, who chooses ‘Tom Baker’ as an alias?”

For the first time in what felt like a long time, Mariah laughed. “You don’t suppose he was trying to get some geek cred, do you?”

That dazzling grin of Chuck’s appeared. “If so, he’s about thirty years out of date.”

They were both laughing, their arms linked, when they entered the store.

Unfortunately, Emmett Milbarge served as a welcoming committee. Mariah caught his sour expression, and she looked at Chuck. They both grinned. The assistant manager’s expression soured even more. “The two of you are,” he checked his watch with exaggerated care, “exactly two and three-quarters minutes late. I expect you to make up the time.”

“We’ll be happy to, Emmett,” Chuck said cheerfully. “Should we take that off our breaks or stay late?”

Mariah, unable to resist, added, “Or perhaps we should come in early tomorrow?”

“There’s always lunch tomorrow,” Chuck countered.

Emmett sniffed and ran his eyes over Mariah. “Perhaps Casey would be interested in knowing who you’re spending your time with.”

Her smile stiffened. “John knows.”

“Really?” Emmett purred, and the note of triumph in his eyes was Mariah’s only warning. “Then perhaps you could explain why he was here looking for you.”

She felt the euphoria she’d felt the night before when John called wash through her only to have it crushed as she looked at the assistant manager. All humor died. “John was here?” she asked carefully as she released Chuck’s arm. Perhaps the flight he’d caught as he spoke to her was one that was a first step to bring him home.

Emmett did that annoying little sniff of his once more and inspected his cuticles. “He said he only had a few minutes—something about being in transit. I must say he looked so much bigger in his uniform.”

His words crushed her. John had been here, but she hadn’t. She couldn’t stop it. The tears started. It embarrassed the hell out of her, not least because Emmett was giving her his insincere smile. She knew part of her reaction was that because of her pregnancy, her emotions were all over the place. A few nights before, she had burst into tears because she couldn’t find her fingernail clippers, but the idea that she had missed seeing John simply devastated her. She felt Chuck steer her toward the back of the store while she fought for control.

Chuck fished his phone out of his pocket. “Sarah?” she heard him ask. “Have you heard from Casey?”

Mariah found something to wipe her eyes on and blew her nose. Chuck stood and watched her, listened to whatever Walker said. “Take a look at the surveillance feed from the Buy More, would you?” There was a pause. “Because Emmett Milbarge says he was just here.”

She cried harder when Chuck ended the call and told her Emmett had lied to them. It was cruel of Emmett to have told her that, and she didn’t understand why he had done so. It was one thing to take verbal swipes at her, make snide comments about her cheating on John, but to tell her she had just missed him was more than she could bear at the moment. For his part, Chuck put his arms around her and let her cry on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong with her?” she heard Morgan ask. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been watering Chuck’s chest at that point, but she was nearly cried out.

“She’s missing Casey,” Chuck said.

She tightened her grip on him a moment, thankful for his prevarication. Then she pushed away from Chuck, wiped at her eyes and cheeks. “You look terrible,” Morgan said to her.

“Morgan!” Chuck hissed.

Mariah shook her head. “I’m sure he’s right,” she said. She wiped at her cheeks, absently noting that her hands shook as she did so.

Chuck told her to stay in the back and work on repairs. He was the one scheduled for that afternoon’s cage duty, but she appreciated not having to go out and face the public with blotchy skin, swollen eyes, and a red nose.

She had a quiet afternoon. The only problem was that it gave her far too much time to think. The things she thought about included why Beckman would suddenly make her part of the team. It made little to no sense to Mariah to suddenly choose to include her. She understood that Chuck apparently trusted her, but he had always trusted Sarah Walker more than anyone. John had been alternately frustrated and relieved that Chuck didn’t trust him more than he did. Mariah had never asked what his orders were when it came to an endgame on this particular assignment. She had seen enough of General Beckman to know the other woman had a ruthless streak even her godfather couldn’t match. She suspected John’s brief was to kill the younger man when he was no longer needed.

The other thing she thought about was John’s phone call. She hadn’t noticed at the time that he repeatedly asked if she was alright, but as she mentally replayed the conversation again and again, he had spent most of it asking her exactly that. She had a feeling her father had given him enough to know something was wrong but hadn’t told him what.

Her thoughts then turned to Emmett Milbarge’s cruel little joke. In hindsight, she had known he lied, knew the conversation she’d had with the General meant there was no way John had actually been there. She desperately wanted to make Emmett pay for that, but she couldn’t afford to jeopardize her job. It wouldn’t stop her from looking for an opportunity and exploiting it if she got the chance.

 

\-------- X -------

 

Casey didn’t get another chance to call Riah. He found himself and a carefully selected squad of his men hunting an Al Qaeda agitator whose men had been inflicting heavy losses on the coalition troops as well as the Iraqi police. To make a call was to risk detection, so for his own safety and that of his men and their Iraqi informants and partners, he didn’t attempt to contact her. It was only during the moments when he had a chance to rest that he indulged in the luxury of thinking about her. As he drifted off, he pictured her, usually naked and in his arms. He could feel her limbs entangled in his, the heat of her, and he could taste her as sleep claimed him.

When they had completed their mission, after he had dressed down Miles for having killed the man before they could interrogate him, Casey tiredly considered making the call. Instead, he found himself writing reports, explaining how Miles had mistakenly assumed the man was armed and reaching for a weapon when he shot and killed him. Casey had his doubts but no proof, so he let the report reflect what Miles said and his men corroborated. There was no contradictory evidence, though the dead man had proven unarmed when his body was examined. Mistakes happened, he knew, but it was irritating when it cost intel.

Finished, he stretched. His bunk called to him, but there was one more thing he wanted to do. He opened an e-mail account he’d set up on a non-government system. He had never used it, but after he deleted the junk mail that had accumulated, he opened a message screen. He wrote Riah on her personal e-mail account rather than her ISI one or the one associated with her BlackBerry, told her what he’d said on the phone: he hadn’t asked to have his things moved. He wrote that he had left her a note to explain that he was being recalled, but he didn’t know why she hadn’t received it. He wrote that Beckman had said she would tell Riah he was leaving, but he didn’t know why she hadn’t done that, either. He could have guessed, and he’d probably be right, he thought, but it wouldn’t be productive to tell Riah that. He wrote that he wasn’t sure when he’d be back, wasn’t sure when he could call her again, and he told her he didn’t know if he’d be able to check the account he used any time soon.

He stretched, exhaustion catching up to him, but he wasn’t finished yet. He stared at the wall opposite him for a while, turned over words and phrases as he sought the right ones, and then he returned to the message. This time he wrote that he missed her, that he hoped she was alright. He wrote that her father had seemed concerned about her, and he told her that if she needed him, to tell her father. V. H. would find him, and Casey would do what he could to get to her.

Unbidden, he had that image in his head again, the one of her heavy with child. He rubbed his eyes and beat it back. His fingers were tempted to write something he knew he couldn’t say to her, especially when he knew his agency frequently intercepted e-mail messages, so he used the touchpad and hit send before he weakened and let them. He closed the program, killed the satellite link, and shut down the laptop. He dropped on his bunk, unlaced his boots and removed them, and then he ran a finger over her image in the photograph before he rolled onto the cot and dropped into deep, dreamless sleep.

 

\------- X -------

 

The chance to get even for his lie eluded her. It was almost as if Emmett Milbarge knew she was looking for an excuse. He stayed clear of her, and he only spoke to her about the job. To Mariah’s amusement, the other job was pretty dormant, too. The only difference in her routine was to be present at briefings with the General.

When she attended the first one, Kavanaugh nearly exploded. He’d demanded to know why she was there. Mariah said nothing, and even Walker refused to say anything. When the General appeared on screen, he repeated his demand. The General gave him a hard glare and told him because she said so. It didn’t take long to realize that Mariah would play a support position, but that didn’t especially bother her. She was still fairly suspicious of why she had been included, so having limited responsibilities suited her.

Her life really didn’t change much. She had too much time alone, and she was finding, as she had in Chicago, that that was dangerous. She had begun having minor panic attacks, most apparently triggered by planning for her pregnancy. Chuck walked into the middle of one, and she decided then this couldn’t continue. She went to the beach on one of her days off and called Ben. She had a long talk with him on the phone, and that evening he e-mailed her the name of a therapist he thought would be good for her. The next day, she arranged to meet the woman and found she liked her. She stopped seeing Dr. Dreyfus, the CIA psychiatrist. Beckman wasn’t happy when she found out. Mariah explained that she needed to deal with some personal issues she wasn’t comfortable talking about to the other man, assured Beckman she would not talk about the job, and when the General realized Mariah wouldn’t give in, she capitulated with ill-grace.

And then, one night, Mariah woke up, momentarily disoriented. She had been dreaming about John, and she automatically reached for him before she remembered he was gone. When she moved, she felt something wet and sticky between her legs, and when she turned on the light, she found she was bleeding. She had felt something akin to cramps throughout the day, but had dismissed them. She made a frantic phone call to her aunt who came over immediately. Lydia made her get dressed and took her to the hospital.

When Lydia had run tests and then rejoined her, her expression somber, Mariah knew something was wrong. She froze as her aunt explained she was miscarrying. The tears trickled as Lydia told her it wasn’t anything she had done, that these things happened, but Mariah shouldn’t blame herself. Mariah quit listening. She closed her eyes, beyond tired. Lydia gave her something Mariah dutifully swallowed. She ignored Lydia’s explanations.

Her aunt took her home when it was all over, gave her some instructions she didn’t really hear, and Mariah went upstairs to crawl into bed. She was too tired to change the stained sheets on the bed she’d shared with John, so she went to her old room.

 

She heard someone pound on the door downstairs, but she opened her eyes only to shut them again. She wanted whoever it was to go away.

 

She heard her phone shrill, but she ignored it. When it quit, she turned it off. She was just numb, which beat feeling.

 

Someone was shaking her, and she thought she heard her mother’s voice. She knew that was unlikely, so she burrowed deeper into her bed. Whoever was managing to sound like her mother shook her harder, and Mariah surfaced, squinted in the light that washed the room. She was surprised to see the concerned face of Ariel Taylor above her.

“Mariah, you’re getting out of this bed, and you’re doing it right now.”

She swallowed thickly and started to roll over again. It had to be her imagination.

“Oh, no you don’t,” her mother said. “You’re going to get a shower, and then we’re going to talk.”

Mariah pulled the blankets over her head, not caring that it was childish, and the thought of being childish stabbed at her. No child. Her child was gone.

Her mother pulled the covers off and pulled Mariah into a sitting position. She looked at her mother and burst into tears. At some point, it occurred to her that this was where her pregnancy had started, with her crying in her mother’s arms. Ariel held her, murmured comfort now and then, and when the sobs subsided, she told Mariah softly, “Come on. Let’s get you up and in the shower.”

She stood under the hot water and absorbed the warmth. She heard the door open and assumed her mother was leaving her clothes. She started to wash mechanically. She had to make a conscious effort to move.

Clean and dressed once more, she stood in front of the bathroom mirror brushing her teeth. Her head hurt, and she wondered how long it had been since she had gone to Lydia’s office in the middle of the night. Long enough for her mother to arrive from wherever she had been, but Mariah had lost track of time. She felt weak, but that was hardly surprising since she couldn’t remember the last time she ate something. It embarrassed her to realize she had let the blackness take over again, and then she wondered how her mother had managed to get inside the apartment without triggering any of John’s security traps.

She walked downstairs slowly. She felt lightheaded, and her legs shook slightly. She found her mother, her aunt Lydia, her sister, and her stepfather in the living room. Lydia sat her down and checked her over, fired questions at her. Mariah answered them as best she could. Her mother sat a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs and some fruit in front of her. She picked up her fork, ate what she could. She knew from past experience it was better to eat something than listen to her mother’s alternating orders and pleas.

To her surprise, the women left her with Ben once she pushed the plate away. He watched her, clearly uncomfortable. That surprised Mariah given his occupation. Finally, he said, “I can call Danielle, if you prefer,” he said, naming the therapist she had been seeing. She shook her head, weary. She asked him what day it was, and he told her. Mariah had spent four days hidden away in her bed. She told him she had a scheduled appointment the next day. He tilted his head, and she saw the clinician in him assert himself. “Will you keep that appointment?”

She nodded. She suddenly remembered all the problems her four-day disappearance might have caused, but Ben apparently knew what she was thinking. “Your father took care of your job,” he said quietly. “They sent a blonde woman to let your mother in the apartment.” He studied her a moment. “This place is a fortress, Mariah.”

The last was more a question than a statement. “John’s doing.”

“Have you heard from him?” Ben asked. She shook her head, and then she told him about the phone call. Ben looked grave. “You will tell him about the miscarriage, won’t you?”

Mariah hunched into her chair and stared at a patch of floor. “I don’t know where he is or how to reach him,” she admitted softly. She didn’t dare look at Ben. She didn’t tell him that John hadn’t known she was pregnant. That was probably just as well, she thought. John had made it crystal clear he didn’t plan on being a father. She sighed and covered her face with her hands a moment. When she dropped them, she looked at her stepfather and said, “I love you, Ben, but I don’t want to talk to you about this.”

He gave her his wide, sad smile. “As long as you talk to Danielle,” he told her, “because this isn’t healthy, Mariah, and I think you need to talk to someone.”

“I don’t want to go back on the drugs,” she said and blushed when she realized that had been an automatic response.

“Then talk to Danielle, but she may want you to take them for a while.”

She promised and then asked where the others had gone. Ben shrugged and admitted he didn’t know. She knew he had been left to talk to her, but the truth was she would rather have talked to her mother or her aunt. She gave them the benefit of the doubt, assumed they had left her with Ben since it had been a long time since she had had an episode like this.

They talked about other things, including Emma. After a while, she began to get that trapped feeling she sometimes experienced, and she asked Ben if he would go for a walk with her. When he agreed, she went upstairs and put on her shoes before grabbing her keys. As she locked the door, she heard Ellie Bartowski’s voice call her name. She turned, saw Ellie’s puzzled expression as the other woman studied Ben. Mariah introduced him, and Ellie smiled, told him she had read some of his work. Ellie then turned her attention to Mariah. “Chuck’s been worried about you.”

“I’ve not been well,” Mariah said.

Ellie started firing questions at her, but Ben came to Mariah’s rescue. He efficiently told Ellie Mariah would be fine and that they were on their way to meet her mother and sister. Ellie once more gave Mariah a curious look, and Mariah realized she had never mentioned her family. She told Ellie she would see her soon. Ben settled a hand in her lower back as they left the courtyard. He let Mariah choose the direction they took while he walked silently by her, speaking only when she did.

They made their way to a nearby park where Mariah selected a bench away from the playground filled with mothers and their children. She closed her eyes and raised her face to the sun.

“You always did feel better when you could be outside,” Ben observed.

Mariah nodded. She wished she had chosen a different place as the high-pitched voices of children reached her. Still, she couldn’t hide from them the rest of her life. “Ellie seems nice,” Ben said.

She nodded and opened her eyes. She took the distraction he offered, found herself telling him about the other woman and her brother. When she wound down, Ben observed that she was lucky to have such neighbors. Then he asked, “She didn’t know you were pregnant, did she?”

Mariah shook her head and then scrubbed a hand over her eyes. “I didn’t tell anyone here. I just—I just thought John should know first.”

They talked a little more about her life in Los Angeles, and eventually they decided it was time to go back. Feeling weak once more, she leaned on Ben as they walked.

When they reached the apartment, they met Chuck coming home from work. He got what John called a flash face when he saw Ben. That made Mariah more than a little curious, but she curbed the desire to ask, especially with Ben present. Instead, she introduced the two men, explained that Ben was her stepfather. Chuck mumbled something about a date and that it was nice to meet Ben and headed for his apartment.

Ben stared after him. “What a strange young man.”

Mariah said nothing, led him back to her apartment. After Ben made himself at home, Mariah told him she needed to go get her mail. She left him looking at a book in the living room and went and knocked on Chuck’s window.

“You flashed on Ben,” she said before he could say anything. “I want to know what.”

She could tell he wasn’t sure he should tell her.

“Look,” she said, “let’s just skip the part where you tell me I’m mistaken and the part where you tell me you can’t tell me, okay? They made me part of Team Bartowski, so spill.”

Chuck leaned forward and put his hands on the window sill. “He worked on the Montreal Project.”

Mariah felt lightheaded; Chuck looked alarmed. “What do you mean he worked on the Montreal Project?” she asked faintly. Dr. Houston, not Ben, had tested her. She had never seen Ben before her father took her to him after her abduction—long after the Montreal Project had ended.

“I didn’t get any details other than that, Mariah,” he said. “He’s a child psychiatrist, right?”

She wanted to correct Chuck, tell him Ben saw adults as well, but his specialty had been traumatized children. Who had been more traumatized than the children in the Project? She began to see Ben’s research in an entirely different light. “Thanks,” she said, and as she returned to her apartment, she wondered if Danielle Monahan had worked with Ben then, knew about that part of Mariah’s life. Mariah had not talked about her childhood with the other woman, had focused mainly on Gray, adult traumas, and John. She sighed. The last grownup person she still truly trusted may have betrayed her, she realized as she let herself in the apartment and looked at him.

“No mail?” Ben asked from his seat on the sofa.

Mariah had forgotten that was the excuse she had used to go see Chuck. She shook her head, knew she couldn’t go check it now without arousing Ben’s suspicions. There were bills she would have to retrieve later and deal with, she was sure, but at the moment she needed to think. She desperately wanted to ask Ben about his work for ISI, but she didn’t think she should expose him there where the Americans would know. She couldn’t do that to Emma.

She asked if she could get Ben anything, but he declined in the absentminded way that told her he was absorbed in his book. She moved into the kitchen, took down a glass and got some water. She decided to check her e-mail, maybe send her father an encrypted message to ask him about what Ben had done for them all those years ago.

Using her own computer, she logged on and systematically opened her e-mail accounts, beginning with her ISI account and finishing with her personal one. She skimmed the messages out of habit, deleted some obvious junk, and paused when she saw an unknown address. She stared at it a moment, torn between laughing and crying. Clicking the message from GIJohn, she avidly read John’s e-mail. It was a unique kind of torture for her, especially when he confessed in the second part of the message that he missed her. She did cry then. She tried not to make any noise so she didn’t alert Ben, but she must have made a sound of some sort because he asked, “Mariah?”

“Sorry,” she choked.

He stood, set his book down, and started to cross the room to her. “Bad news?”

She gave him a watery smile and closed her laptop. “No. Good news.”

Ben cocked his head and looked expectant.

“It’s a message from John,” she said. Suddenly, she was tired of the pretense. She shut the surveillance equipment off. “Ben, what did you do for the Montreal Project?”

He paled. She could tell he debated whether or not to tell her, but she hoped he would. He sighed. “Clean up, Mariah.” She felt the color drain from her face. “Not that kind!” he said in disgust. “Clack hired me to interview the children on the list to see which had—well,” he said and gave a nervous cough. “A little hypnosis, a little memory alteration.” She looked at him, horror-struck, and she suddenly wondered what else had been done to her as a child. “No! No!” he said quickly, stepping toward her, his hand outstretched. “It kept them alive, Mariah. Not all of them were that fortunate.”

She well knew that. Before she could say more, her mother and Emma came through the door, and Mariah turned the surveillance equipment back on.

 

They stayed a week. Emma and her mother took turns staying with her. Mariah liked it best when Emma stayed, and as if her mother sensed that was the case, Ariel soon started returning to her Malibu beach house at night, leaving the sisters together. Emma took a liking to Chuck, so much so that Mariah was very nervous about that until she realized that it really was just a liking and not a crush. She supposed it could have been worse. Emma could have decided she liked Morgan Grimes. Mariah shuddered. Chuck was nice to her sister, and Ellie, curious about the first members of Mariah’s family she had met, invited them all to dinner. Ben, by that time, had returned to Chicago, but when the three women turned up at the Bartowskis’, Ellie nearly fainted when she realized Ariel Taylor was on her doorstep.

Her mother set out to put Ellie at ease, and Mariah was proud of how her mother acted like a normal person. Ariel even dealt with Devon’s hyperventilation and subsequent statement that one of her albums was his “getting lucky” music with grace.

At night, Mariah thought of John, thought of his e-mail message, and she was sorely tempted to answer it. He had written he rarely checked the account, though, and the truth was that though she desperately wanted to talk to him, her reason for doing so was gone. She couldn’t bring herself to contact him just to say she missed him, mainly because she feared she’d pour all the rest out to him, and she couldn’t do that, not when he was gone. She knew he had gone back to his special ops team. Beckman had finally told her that much, at least.

Alone again, she began picking up the pieces as best she could. She saw the therapist, and she went back on the antidepressants. All she had to do was hold it together until someone decided her fate, she thought one night. She suspected she’d be sent home soon, especially since it was obvious John wasn’t coming back. That was what made his e-mail so seductive.

Then, just as she had mostly regained her equilibrium, an ISI operative knocked on her door early one morning, handed her a packet and left. Mariah had orders to return to Ottawa, supposedly for training, but she suspected she would not return to Los Angeles afteward. She looked at the plane ticket. They were wasting no time. She had a flight out that evening.

The com equipment came to life, and General Beckman’s face appeared. “I see your father lost no time,” she said.

Mariah stared at the other woman. “I’ll call the Buy More and tell them I’m leaving. Should I tell them what we discussed earlier?” She referred to her offer to leave and tell them John was returning to the military permanently while she was moving to the base where he would be stationed.

“No, Miss Adderly,” the General said. “This is no more than what your orders say. You’re to go to Canada for mandatory training. You will return when you’ve completed that training.”

Mariah cocked her head and stared at the image on the screen. She was deeply suspicious now. She would have thought Beckman would be thrilled to be rid of her. “And how am I supposed to explain a six weeks absence to the Buy More?”

The General folded her hands. “We’ve thought of two options. Major Casey has leave but can only get to Germany. You’re going to take unpaid leave and visit him. Or he’s been injured, and you’re on your way to him.”

She wondered who we were. She chewed her lip. “The first option is better,” she said at last. “If we say John’s injured, they’ll want details, and then John will have issues if—when—he comes back. Besides, any injury serious enough for me to go to Europe would be serious enough to keep him down longer than I’ll be gone or get him discharged.”

Beckman gave a curt nod. “If you have problems with the Buy More, let me know, and I’ll arrange for them to give you the time off.” The other woman closed the line then, leaving a bemused Mariah standing in the living room.

Mariah finished packing what she thought she would need, and as she set the case beside the door, she wondered if there was some reason they wanted her out of Los Angeles. She wasn’t due for training for another two months, and it was unusual for an operative on assignment to be recalled early. It was possible, she supposed, that her father had decided to force the issue at last. It was also possible that Beckman had finally decided to move Kavanaugh into John’s apartment, and this was the first step in cutting ISI out of the Intersect project. She packed her service weapon in its case. She’d run it over to Mona to send it back to Canada. It would be easier crossing the border without it, she knew, and Mona would have it there almost as fast as Mariah would arrive.

There was a knock at the door, and she opened it to Chuck. “Hi,” he said. “Sarah said you’re leaving.”

They both had the day off from Buy More. “Temporarily,” Mariah acknowledged.

“Mind if I ask why?”

“Training.”

Chuck gave her a funny look. “They gave you a spy license, but they still have to train you?” he asked. “I wouldn’t have thought they’d send you here if you still needed training.”

Her lips twitched. “ISI has mandatory training for their operatives every three years,” she told him. “I’m due, so I’m going home for about a month and a half.” Actually, she was headed to a complex just outside Ottawa, but she saw no reason to complicate the explanation.

He asked about the Buy More, and she told him she was about to go see Big Mike. Chuck offered to go with her, but she thanked him and declined. She had other errands to run while she was at it. When he had gone, she collected her purse, car keys, and cell phone, and picked up her gun case.

She flashed her ID at the consulate guard and was amused when he insisted on inspecting her case. Anticipating the possibility, she had the paperwork from ISI ready.

It felt good when Mona hugged her, and even the whiff of some perfume Mona had probably read about in one of the spy romance novels she still devoured only served to remind Mariah of home. She explained why she was there, and it was soon obvious Mona knew she was going home.

Mona agreed to send her service weapon ahead, so Mariah locked the case and handed it over. They talked a few minutes about nothing much, and then Mona looked at her over her glasses. “Are you okay?”

Mariah realized the other woman knew. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Mona reached a hand out and covered hers, and Mariah very nearly burst into tears. “Some days better than others,” she admitted a little thickly when she trusted herself not to cry.

“Oh, honey,” Mona said, and her sympathy made tears come closer to spilling. “I’m so sorry.”

She bit her lip and nodded, relieved when Mona’s phone buzzed and she got up to answer it. It gave Mariah a chance to get herself back under control. She heard Mona say, “She’s right here,” and shot a look at the older woman. Mona held the phone out. “It’s your dad.”

Mariah crossed and took the handset. “Dad?”

“Change of plans,” he said, and his no-nonsense tone told her he probably wasn’t alone. “I need you to do an errand for me,” he said before he went on to detail that errand. She was going to Europe, to southern France, to collect an informant. The man she was to meet had escaped Afghanistan only a step ahead of his former colleagues. Mariah was to see he safely got to Canada and to take him to a safe house in Ottawa where she would turn him over to ISI. “I’m sending the paperwork to Mona,” he finished. “Give your ticket to Ottawa to her, and she’ll give you one for Marseille. You’ll need to keep your weapon.”

Mariah sighed, handed the phone back to Mona. When the other woman had hung up, she turned to Mariah. “I’ve got to arrange my leave with the cover job,” she explained to Mona. “I’ll come back when I’m finished and pick up my documents.”

Big Mike wasn’t very happy when she explained what she wanted. He frowned, he blustered, Mariah, exasperated, finally resorted to tears, and as she left, she made a mental note that the big man couldn’t stand a crying woman. Emmett Milbarge intercepted her. “You’re needed on several off sites tomorrow.”

“You’ll have to reassign them. I’m taking six weeks unpaid leave,” she said and walked away from him before he could respond.

She drove back to the consulate, picked up her documents and weapon, and then went home and collected her bag. She didn’t really want to leave her car at the airport for so long, so she walked across and asked Chuck if he’d mind driving her. As they drove, she told Chuck to keep an eye on things for her and to call if he needed to. He nodded, wished her luck, and to her surprise, he hugged her when he got out to help her get her suitcase from the back. She hugged him back and waved when he drove away.

 

It felt good to have a win for a change, she thought as she left the quiet little man in ISI hands. It had been a relatively easy job, though they had had a few ugly moments on the way to the Marseille airport. Mariah grinned as she sat in the passenger seat of the car her father had sent. She looked forward to being in her own home, even if for only one night. Oddly, she couldn’t help but think of John.

Perhaps that was why when she was inside her apartment, she dropped her case in her bedroom and went to the kitchen, splashed bourbon in a glass and sat down before the panoramic view of Parliament Hill. She sighed and sipped the whiskey. Tomorrow she started training. Maybe that would take her mind off him.

 

\------- X -------

 

Casey and his men were quickly sent out again. The mission was similar enough to the one they had just undertaken that Casey felt he was simply retreading the same ground. When the end result was pretty much the same as that of the previous mission, he allowed his frustration to show in his report. At least Miles had not been the one to pull the trigger this time, and the death had been justified. Casey had worked in the intelligence world long enough to regret the loss of intel.

His thoughts turned to Riah as he lay in his bunk afterward. He had checked his e-mail, but there had been no message in response to his. She had not tried to call him, and he had heard nothing further from V. H. Whatever the crisis had been, he assumed it was over. It bothered him, though. Something had made V. H. hunt him down. Chasing that thought was the idea that Beckman might have finally sent her back to Canada, and he was surprised by how disappointed he felt at the idea. Perhaps when he finally got back to the States, when he got some time off, he could go see her—or she could come to him.

The next morning he had new orders. His men were getting a new officer, and he was going to D.C. He decided to call Riah when he got there, but his plane was met in Germany, and he was hustled immediately onto another bound for the States. He was taken straight to headquarters, and when he faced Beckman, there was no time to ask about Riah. Beckman, assuming he wanted to know about Bartowski, let him quickly know the kid was still the Intersect and Walker had everything well in hand. There was no mention of Riah, and he had no opportunity to ask before she told him she was sending him to Afghanistan once more.

To his surprise, though, once she had explained the Afghan mission, the General continued with, “Before you go, Major, V. H. Adderly has requested your assistance.”

Casey schooled his features. He would not ask about Riah, he promised himself. He had time enough to find out what he wanted to know. “With what?”

She gave him a tight, far-from-amused smile. “You will evaluate an ISI training mission.”

That news wiped any thought of Riah from his mind. He was being punished, and he wondered for what. Officers of his status didn’t do this. With notable exceptions, men who were burned out, who were no longer of use, or who had so screwed up a mission they could no longer be trusted in the field became teachers and evaluators. Casey failed to see in which of those categories he belonged. “With all due respect,” he began, but General Beckman cut him off.

“Adderly was kind enough to loan us his daughter,” she said frostily. “I’ve agreed to loan you to him this once.” He started to protest, but she gave him a stony look. He bit it back, said nothing, and listened to her instructions.

Beckman had had someone in to clean and air out his house. While he was grateful, he still was uneasy with the idea that someone had been in his personal space, someone he had not approved. There was fresh food, and he supposed Beckman had arranged that as well. He ate and then began laundry. While he sat in front of the news, he thought about Riah. He dialed her number, but he got her voice mail. He hung up. He thought about e-mailing her again, but he didn’t want to appear to chase after her like a lovesick schoolboy.

The next morning he travelled to Canada, his bags repacked. An ISI operative met him at the airport and drove him to the training ground. He was handed a file as he got in the car, and he read the scenario and studied the diagrams of the area where the exercise would take place. By the time his driver parked the car, he was pretty comfortable with what he was there to observe.

What he hadn’t expected was to see V. H., but the other man waited for him when he climbed from the car. Whatever animosity V. H. felt was clearly gone as he smiled and shook Casey’s hand. “I appreciate your doing this,” he told Casey.

Casey grunted rather than say anything since he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t insult the man. He did, however, ask, “How’s Riah?” V. H. gave him an odd look.

“Fine.” Casey knew he didn’t imagine the hard edge to the other man’s voice. “When we’re through here, you and I need to talk.”

He looked at his old friend. “I imagine we do.”

Before he could ask where Riah was, V. H. gestured toward the command post. “We’re about to start.”


	7. Chapter 7

Her godfather had once told Mariah about sending her father back to the Institute for mandatory training. Major Clack had needed her father there to understand and deal with a problem. Her father was sending her for actual training. She was part of an advanced class, and she found the work surprisingly easy.

Unfortunately, the second they saw her name, the instructors shot her an appraising look. For some, there seemed to be a moment’s suspicion, but with others, there was dismissal. At least one of them softballed her, apparently certain her father had sent her to check up on him, so he wanted to curry favor for a good report. Two others were absolute bastards to her, but the rest treated her no differently than they did any of the other operatives there for training.

Her name didn’t earn her any friends, either, especially since she had arrived two days after her course started. Some of her classmates who knew the name and knew she was the director general’s daughter seemed to assume she did well through favoritism. As she always did, she performed well, studied hard, and passed the exams, usually at the top of the class. There were several operatives she knew who weren’t hostile, but that was little comfort. There was one, though, a Mick Faraday, who apparently wished to simply torment her.

Faraday was good but arrogant—not that unusual in an operative with his background, she knew. He had trained as a sniper in the Army and ran one of ISI’s tactical teams. He was there with hopes of joining the anti-terrorist team. Mariah knew that the operative who graduated first from training courses got his or her choice of assignment. Faraday seemed convinced Mariah was after the anti-terrorist slot, which, she supposed, might explain his animosity toward her. She entertained it one night, thought about what it could mean to her career, but then she thought about what else it would mean. She didn’t want to live out of a suitcase, didn’t want to pick up and fly to God knew where at a moment’s notice. She wasn’t interested in continually moving from place to place, never in one spot for longer than a few days or weeks. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she wanted to stay with ISI. She thought about John, about the miscarriage, and then she thought about what she might like to do with her future.

Because she came up with no answers, she opened the text on her desk and settled in to study applied tactical theory in an urban environment.

 

Mariah felt battered and bruised when she returned to her dormitory room a few days later. She had good reason to feel that way, she reflected, because she was bruised, badly in a few places. She hated the hand-to-hand training. It had never been her forte. She was so much smaller than the other operatives with whom she trained—even many of the women—that it had often been easy to defeat her. They all had a longer reach; most outweighed her. She thought about the things John had taught her when she first went to Los Angeles, but many of those maneuvers were not allowed. She knew she should be able to overcome her size by fair means, but she hadn’t. Her instructor told her she was overthinking it, but despite knowing he was right, it didn’t help when she was up against an opponent on the mat.

And then she faced Faraday.

It started badly. He sent her to the floor all too easily, and it was only when he had reached down to help her up and softly hissed, “Daddy can’t save you here, can he?” that she rallied. His hissed taunt pissed her off, and all the dirty tricks John had taught her came out when the next round began. In part, she took her anger at John out on Faraday, but mostly she simply saw red over the other man’s statement that she was favored because of the circumstances of her birth. When she finished, she stood over Faraday, panting hard, her nose bloodied, her body bruised, and he lay unconscious on the mat. As the mist of rage cleared, she realized the trainer hadn’t stopped her—and should have. She had a moment where she thought maybe she had been given a bit of favoritism after all.

Sergeant Hal Colson, their combat instructor, quickly disabused her of that. He stepped next to Mariah and turned to face her classmates. “Adderly just demonstrated one of the axioms of a field agent: do whatever you must to be the one who walks away. On the other hand, Adderly,” and he turned to give her a raised brow and frown, “we generally don’t use those tactics in training. I have to penalize your score for your improvisation.” Colson dismissed everyone but her.

When two of Faraday’s friends had taken him to see a medic and the others had left the gym, Colson crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “You’ve learned a lot since the last time I saw you here,” he told her with a grin. “Dalhousie and I told you then you had to get over the fact that your opponents are bigger than you are. How’d you finally manage that?”

Mariah swiped at the blood oozing from her nose. “My latest field supervisor was six-four and a couple of hundred pounds of muscle. He wouldn’t stop a training session until I could take him down.”

Colson’s grin broadened. “I heard you were working with the Americans.”

She shrugged but didn’t confirm.

“I recognized a couple of those maneuvers you took Faraday down with,” he said, but she still didn’t respond. “What did he say to you, by the way?”

She almost told him, but then she changed her mind and remained silent.

“Hit the showers,” he told her, and then called, “Well done,” as she walked away.

Now, in her room, it occurred to her that she might simply have made things more difficult with Faraday because of what she had done in the gym. She sighed. Perhaps, like John, staying calm wasn’t what made her function. She had simply lost it when Faraday said what he did. A part of her acknowledged she’d done really well as a result. A part of her acknowledged her response was unreasonable.

She felt restless. Despite her efforts to wind down, Mariah remained on edge, so a little after ten she made her way to the pub on the Institute’s grounds. She had been tempted to go earlier, but she waited until she knew most of the trainees would have cleared out. When she entered, several conversations stopped and then started again, quieter. She ignored that and made her way to the bar. The bartender gave her a bit of a smile and set a neat bourbon in front of her. She dug in her pocket, but he waved her money away. “Sergeant Colson said the first one was on him for smacking down Faraday,” the man said softly. He leaned over the bar to say even more quietly, “The second one’s on me.” She blushed and wished she hadn’t come out after all.

Mariah nursed her drink, stared at the neon LaBatt’s sign behind the bar, and wondered where she would go when her training was over. Beckman had said she would return to Los Angeles, but Mariah suspected she’d be told her services were no longer needed. She further suspected that just as when she graduated as a new recruit, even if she finished at the top of the class, she wouldn’t have her choice of ISI assignments. As she mused on her future, someone slid onto the bar stool next to hers.

She liked Dan Thompson. They’d gone through the Institute together the first time, and he had gone to foreign affairs afterward. She nodded at him when he said hello. “There are quite a few of us who enjoyed seeing you take Faraday down,” he said quietly, and Mariah began to notice that no one seemed to want to be overheard saying so. That was okay with her. Frankly, she would just as soon no one said anything about it.

Lifting her glass, she said, “Talk about something else.”

Even as she sipped her whiskey, it occurred to her that she had just given a John response. To her relief, Thompson did as she asked. As a result, she passed a pleasant hour and a half before she decided to get back to studying. She dropped enough money on the bar to cover her second drink, and Thompson walked her back to the dorm.

She had several more run-ins with Faraday. The hostility escalated, and after he dislocated her shoulder in another hand-to-hand combat class, Colson privately told her he wanted to move her to another group. Mariah knew that let Faraday win, and she told him so. After they argued, she pointed out that in the field an operative didn’t get to avoid unpleasantness, so he reluctantly let her stay where she was. She did, however, double and triple check everything when Faraday was involved. There would be no training “accident” if she could help it.

As they came to the end of the training course, Mariah and Dan Thompson wound up number one and number two respectively. Faraday was less than one-one-thousandth of a point behind them. Mariah and Thompson were tapped as team leaders for the final training mission. Mariah would head a tactical team, and Thompson would head a negotiating team for a hostage scenario. Sergeant Colson had looked at the two of them when he told them and the class that ISI had insisted, mainly because of Mariah’s involvement and complaints that she was receiving marks because of who she was, on having an outside evaluator brought in. Mariah was relieved, but Thompson was pissed off. She assumed they would bring someone in from the RCMP or CSIS, so she wasn’t concerned. They each took their mission packets and went to study them and prepare.

“Faraday,” Thompson said as they made their way to the dorm. She shot him a confused look. “He’s the one who made the complaints.

Mariah figured that was a pretty safe bet, so she said nothing.

“Is this why you’ve spent most of your career in ICOM?”

She considered not answering. “Not exactly,” she said, and she was glad they had arrived at their floor. Once they arranged a time to go through their mission and plan for it, she told him she’d see him the next day and let herself in her room. She knew the stakes were even higher for her the following afternoon. If she passed, there would be no more questions about her competence when someone outside ISI evaluated her. If she didn’t, then she would never escape the notion that she had had her way smoothed for her by her godfather and her father.

Not that her path had been very smooth parked in the biggest backwater ISI had when all she had ever wanted was field operative status.

Her phone rang near midnight, and she picked it up when she recognized her father’s ringtone. She probably shouldn’t talk to him, she reflected, but she answered anyway. He asked how she was doing, and she told him fine. He asked how the course was going, and she told him fine. He snorted and said, “You’re not very responsive, Mariah.”

“I have the final exam tomorrow, Dad. We shouldn’t be talking to each other at all.”

"They told me you’ve taken a lot of flak for being who you are.”

She sighed. “I don’t think we should talk about this.”

“I talked to Diane Beckman,” he told her. “You’re to report back to Los Angeles as soon as you’re released from the Institute. I’ll pick you up, and we can have dinner before you get on the plane.”

“You know, Dad,” she said, “I seem to remember something about the top graduate getting to choose his or her assignment.”

“Under normal circumstances, that would be true,” he agreed, “but even if you hang on to the top slot, you already have an assignment.”

Mariah was torn. “What if I don’t want to go back?”

He didn’t answer her question, instead, he told her he would see her the next day and hung up.

There was a missed call from a number she didn’t recognize on her phone. She ignored it, shut the phone off, and concentrated on planning for the exercise the next day.

 

Mariah wouldn’t have confessed it in a million years, but part of what she loved about the job was the rush, the adrenaline coursing through her when she was armed and on the hunt. She felt a small grin tug at her mouth. This was what John loved so much about his own job, she knew, and why the Los Angeles assignment had chafed.

She had been seriously pissed off when her father recalled her for mandatory training. Mostly it had been uncertainty and a contrary and simultaneous certainty that she was being sent away. While the training was required for the job, she was still coping with the fallout from Gray Laurance and from the miscarriage. She had to admit, though, that her father had been right to drag her out of Los Angeles and make her come home. It felt good to be home—even if it was only temporary—good to be in a place where every move wasn’t watched, every word wasn’t listened to. It felt good not to have to go to the Buy More. Most of all, it felt good not to have the constant reminders of John.

That hadn’t stopped her from using him as the excuse for why she needed several weeks off from the Buy More or from putting the photograph she had asked Ellie for on her dresser in her Ottawa loft before she left for the Institute. She liked the photograph of her and John on the beach. They looked like they were in love, though Mariah had no illusions about how John felt about her. She hadn’t heard from him other than that one, brief phone call. After she lost the baby, her father had once more offered to find him for her. She nearly told him to do so, but then she stopped. John had called the last time because her father had found him, but he hadn’t said much of anything to her. It had been a duty call and nothing more. She wanted the next time she heard from him—assuming there was a next time—to be because he actually wanted to talk to her.

Then there was the e-mail. She had told no one but Ben about the message John had sent her. In part, that was because she hadn’t seen it until after she lost the baby, and she wasn’t talking to anyone much. By then, the need to talk to John was gone. The message itself had begun innocuously. He claimed to have left her a note, a note she had never found, though she supposed the team who had stripped his things from the apartment could have taken it. The only thing wrong with that was that John’s things had remained in place for a week before Beckman had them removed. He also claimed Beckman had said she would tell Mariah he had to leave, but the other woman had done no such thing—at least not in any kind of timely manner and not until Mariah asked questions the General could no longer ignore. She wasn’t sure she believed him, but John had never, to the best of her knowledge, lied to her.

It was the second part of the message, though, that had made her cry. John had written that he missed her. He had never said anything like that to her before. Admittedly, other than her time in Chicago and brief absences on his part for the NSA, they had not spent much time apart since she had arrived in California. She had missed him as well, more so at night when she was used to having him to herself.

Circling back to that e-mail he’d sent her, Mariah decided she would never tell him that she had been pregnant. He would probably be happier never knowing. If he ever learned the truth, she wondered if he would blame her for the pregnancy, if he might think she had gotten pregnant on purpose. It was in part because of that insecurity that she hadn’t responded to the e-mail. She justified it by his admission that he didn’t check the account often, but the truth was that she was afraid the relative anonymity of e-mail would lead her to write something she shouldn’t, something that would betray how she felt about him, something that would guarantee she never saw him again.

“Hey, Adderly,” Thompson said as he joined her.

She finished fastening the closures on her vest and nodded. She picked up her handgun, dropped the clip to check that it was loaded and that it was loaded with the simulated ammunition they would use in place of bullets, snapped the clip back, and put the gun in the holster attached to her hip. “You’re ready to take the negotiation, right?” she asked.

He nodded and began pulling on his own vest. Mariah picked up her assault rifle and inspected it. She went through the additional dummy ammunition she’d been given, checked to make sure she couldn’t really kill anyone. Since the accidental death of an operative during a training mission while she was in college, ISI had had an incredible paranoia about never using live ammo during training missions.

“This should be a cakewalk,” Thompson said, which made Mariah grimace as she loaded the pack she would take to the site. She was not the superstitious type, but his comment sent a shiver ghosting down her spine. If there was one thing she had learned from her few short years in this business, it was that the real thing was rarely easy, and training missions had slowly begun to change to add the element of surprise one could face in the actual field. ISI’s trainers had developed a reputation for ingeniously and unpredictably skewed opponents in the scenarios they trained with. There was no longer any such thing as a by-the-book play for these things, and she well knew it. She gave a slight smile as she scooped up her helmet. Several months with the Intersect had taught her to appreciate that those curveballs made it all much more like the real world.

Mariah waited on Thompson. They walked together to the room where they would receive their last-minute instructions before they were taken to the training ground. “I heard some hotshot Yank’s been pegged as the evaluator,” her companion said as they strode down the hallway.

For a moment, Mariah thought of John, but she knew he couldn’t be the one. “Wonder what burnout the Americans sent,” she snorted.

Thompson grinned and shrugged. “Didn’t catch a name. Dubinsky apparently knows him, said he’s a big fucker.” He held the door for her. Mariah knew it was the last courtesy she’d get once they were in the room and started. “Meet up at O’Malley’s afterward?” he asked as they took their seats.

Her father had told her he was taking her to dinner, but she supposed she could spare time for a drink before they left. She’d have to return to the dorm and pack, after all, before leaving. Her father wouldn’t begrudge her a drink with her classmates, so she gave Thompson a grin and asked, “You buying?”

He chuckled. “First round’s on you, Adderly.”

“Yeah, right,” she snorted. “You’ll pack the place with your buddies, and my pockets aren’t that deep.”

“And here I heard you were loaded.”

They shut up then, took their seats, and listened to their instructor. They’d all been there for over a month running through exercises, taking refresher courses, and, in a few cases, courses on new techniques that had come along since they had last come in for training. Mariah had to admit she owed John for her exceptional performance. She’d learned a lot from him, and she shut her brain off when it went to the personal things she had learned from him.

The exercise scenario was relatively simple: extremists had taken over a strip mall and held hostages. She and Thompson and their teams would have to work together to clear the mall, rescue the hostages and take the terrorists. Mariah had her doubts that they would ever really see such action in Canada, but the world was getting weirder, so who knew? She was handed a package containing her specific orders and the communications channels they were to use. She was also given another set of blueprints of the mall and schematics for the electrical and heating and cooling systems, complete with maps of the ductwork. Part of Mariah thought that was cheating since she would have had to find a way to get those on her own if this were the real world. She was given her communications equipment, and she strapped the battery pack in place and switched her mike on.

 

\------- X -------

 

Casey sighed and settled in. He put the headset on, so he could hear the teams talk to one another. He scanned the monitors, noted the placement of cameras. He rapidly read through the scenario once more—terrorists with hostages in a strip mall. There would be two teams, one of them a tactical team, working together. He skimmed the evaluation rubric. It wasn’t much different than what he was used to, but this time he’d be the asshole telling them what they did wrong.

V. H. joined him in the command post. He nodded at Casey and took the other seat. “Ready?” At Casey’s own nod, Adderly told them to begin when they were ready.

The first thing Casey noticed was the chatter. They talked too much, and too much of it wasn’t about the job in front of them. He made some notes and continued to listen. His pen stopped mid-word when he heard a familiar voice say, “Can the talk.” He shot a look at the man still seated beside him. V. H. ignored him, kept his eyes glued to the monitors. Casey turned to them himself, looked for her. He found her in full tactical gear signaling members of her team to go in the back of one of the stores. He momentarily thought they should have gone in both ways, but the front was glass, and they would have been spotted. If this were real, those inside could panic, think they were the next victims. Panic was never a good thing in such situations.

Riah announced the all clear after she had the agents playing shop assistants and customers in the first shop escorted out the back and away. She directed the clearing of all the shops except the one where the hostages and terrorists were. It was efficiently done, even if an operative named Faraday apparently couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Faraday was on the roof opposite the strip mall. She had two other team members who kept engaging the sniper, and despite Riah telling them to shut up, they ignored her. The chatter became about her, in fact.

Casey closed his eyes a second when they made the first serious mistake—and it wasn’t, thankfully, Riah’s. She made the right call, but two of the team decided they knew better and disobeyed a direct order. She sent them to the back before sending another two up top, through the ceiling. She asked for a position report, and then she placed four other operatives, two on each side, outside the front where they could swing around and cover. The two she sent to the back didn’t go to the double doors in the loading area as she’d instructed but instead decided to go to the roof. He made rapid notes. He’d remember their names, though: Parker and Sontag.

She called for a visual on the terrorists from the snipers on the roof opposite, but Faraday talked over them. Even Casey could hear how pissed off she was when she told Faraday she would stand him down and send up a replacement if he didn’t shut the hell up. The man argued. She carried through on her threat. She repeated her request for the visual, but they couldn’t tell her much. The terrorists had moved the hostages to the back. Her team in the ceiling ran a camera through a vent and got her a report. The terrorists were standing, but the hostages were lying flat on the floor.

Riah let the negotiators do their work and held her team in place. Her team got audio in. When she told her team to stand by to go in, she asked again for a perimeter check and then a position check. The two up top lied. As a result, Riah was unaware there was a clear escape route unguarded. Casey was irritated on her behalf even as he acknowledged she was at fault for not making sure her orders had been followed. When the go order came, she asked for one last visual check from the cameras. There had been no change in the positions of the terrorists or the hostages, so she sent her team in.

Casey watched, shook his head. Predictably, the terrorists returned fire, and when they realized no one came in the back, they escaped. The trainers called a halt and took a count: if it had been real, the team killed one terrorist, but the other five escaped. Riah lost two of her team and one hostage who stood up.

Through the monitors, Casey watched Riah walk out of the store front and motion for her team’s snipers to come down from the roof opposite. She unbuckled her helmet and removed it before she snapped the strap closed again and slid it over the butt of her holstered sidearm so the helmet dangled on her hip. Her dark blonde hair was in a braid down her back, and he noticed it wasn’t quite as long as it had been. He listened as she reamed out her two errant operatives, smiled slightly as he scribbled his observations. She then tersely pointed out her team’s other errors before she moved into making sure each member of her team knew what she thought he or she had done well. Casey was intrigued by that. He was used to the reverse of that—the team leader or a trainer mentioning a general well done and then launching into extended error-finding. When she wound down, she told them to check their weapons and hit the showers.

The lead negotiator approached her, and she waited for him. She slung the strap of her rifle over her shoulder and began to strip off the gloves she’d worn, tucked them into her belt. They compared notes on what had happened, and Casey listened to a pretty succinct but accurate evaluation from the two of them. Casey gritted his teeth when he watched the negotiator reach out and stroke a hand up her arm to her shoulder and ask Riah, “Still on for O’Malley’s?” and when she agreed, the man said, “Remember, first round’s on you. Wear something sexy.” She laughed, and Casey wondered if the pen would break before his fingers did where they gripped it. When the other operative moved away, she turned and scanned the roofline. “Okay, Faraday,” she said, “Get down here.”

She started to undo her bulletproof vest. When the other operative didn’t appear, she cocked her head but remained standing alone in the middle of the street on the training ground. “This week, Faraday,” she snapped out, pulling off her vest. Casey snorted, amused.

 

\------- X -------

 

One of her dad’s friends had once told Mariah you never heard the shot that killed you.

As she hit the pavement, Mariah had three seemingly simultaneous thoughts: he’d been wrong, it hurt like a sonofabitch, and she would never see John again because she was about to die.

She could feel the blood, could feel it pump out, and as the heat of the pavement scorched her cheek, she tried to calm down so it would pump out slower.

As things started to go black around the edges, she thought that at least she wouldn’t have to listen to the inevitable dressing down for having taken her vest off.


	8. Chapter 8

 

Casey’s amusement was short lived. Riah stood there a moment, still, watched the roofline. He heard the shot through her mike, and he saw her crumple on the monitor. He threw his pen and the clipboard with the evaluation forms at the console and ran.

He shouldn’t have been the first to reach her, there were others closer than the command post, but he was. His heart nearly stopped when he did. There was a spreading pool of blood. She was face down and bleeding out fast. He noted the entry wound on her back, and when he had her facing up, there was a larger hole in her lower chest. Not good. Blood trickled from her mouth, and her eyes weren’t quite closed. “Riah?” he demanded, and he heard his voice break.

She closed her eyes and slowly opened them again. “John?” she whispered.

“Stay with me, honey,” he said tightly. He put a hand over the hole just below her right breast and pushed hard. His right arm was below her shoulders, and he lifted her slightly, groped for the hole where the bullet entered. “Stay with me, Riah.”

“Miss . . . you,” she said faintly.

“I missed you, too,” he said, and pressed his lips against her pale forehead. When her eyes fell shut, he urged her, “Riah, sweetheart, stay awake. Stay here, honey.”

“Love . . . you,” she murmured, and her eyes closed again.

“Riah,” he moaned, “don’t go to sleep, honey. Stay here, Riah. Don’t leave me.”

He kept talking to her, made her answer him when he thought she was slipping away, and he felt her blood drench his sleeve and then his chest when he clutched her against him when she stopped answering. He begged her to stay with him, to stay awake, to stay alert, anything he could think of. His hands weren’t slowing the blood pumping out of her, and he realized the bullet must have nicked an artery or something else for her to be losing that much blood that fast. He knew time was running out, especially since the faint, whistling rattle in her breathing sounded a little like a lung collapsing. When the medics finally got there, Casey knew it couldn’t have been much more than a moment, but it felt like a lifetime.

He started to let her go, let them have her, but she clutched his arm weakly. “I’m right here,” he promised her. The medics asked him to lay her back on the ground, so he did. When he started to move out of their way, she appeared to panic weakly, and one of them said sharply, “Stay close. Talk to her.”

Casey moved out of their way, took a position near her head, knelt in the blood pool, stroked her hair, and talked to her. Afterward, he was unable to remember what he said to her. He just knew he talked to her. They let him go with them in the ambulance—probably because he made it obvious he would insist. He stayed out of their way, watched every move they made as they struggled to keep her alive. When they reached the hospital, he stayed with her until they took her into surgery. He was shown to a waiting room where he took a seat.

It wasn’t until V. H. Adderly joined him that he even remembered the other man. He’d been so tightly focused on Riah he hadn’t spared a single thought for her father. Sitting in the chair next to him, V. H. said, “I’ve just called her mother. She’s on her way.”

Casey nodded numbly.

“Faraday’s under arrest.”

Casey gave another mechanical nod. He wondered how long it would be before they knew something. He wondered if she was alive or if she had died, wondered if they were trying desperately to revive her. His hand shook when he raised it to his face, rubbed it along his chin. He glanced at his watch, numbly wiped at the reddish smear on its crystal with a shaking thumb. How long had she been in there?

“You’re not hearing anything I say, are you?” V. H. asked.

The question caught his attention. Turning to look at the other man, Casey realized he was right. He hadn’t heard much of what the other man had said. He’d been so wrapped up in his own concerns he hadn’t thought about her father. Now, though, he noticed the man’s pale, drawn face and the worry in his dark brown eyes. “No,” Casey admitted.

V. H. sat back and turned slightly to look at Casey. “I’ve asked Mariah, but I’ve never managed to get an answer. What happened between the two of you?”

Casey swallowed thickly. He wasn’t certain he knew himself, and as a result, he wasn’t sure he could give the man an answer. He closed his eyes, heard Riah’s faint whispers again: _Miss . . . you . . . . Love . . . you._ “We—“ he cleared his throat, “—we . . . . _Christ_!” His hands shook and he folded them together to make them stop. He blinked rapidly, his vision blurry.

V. H.’s hand went to his shoulder. “Just tell me this: do you love her?”

He shot the other man a sharp look.

Adderly sighed heavily when Casey didn’t answer. “She saved your cover, you know,” V. H. said. “She told the Buy More that you were in the reserves and had been recalled to active duty and sent to Afghanistan. She told Diane she did it so you could go back when it was time.”

Casey couldn’t help wondering if she would be there if he did go back. He had to acknowledge the story she concocted to explain his absence was smart, one he should have thought of himself, but Riah thought faster on her feet than he did when it came to things like this. If the General had been smart, she’d told Bartowski a version of the same.

A door opened, and both men looked up, expecting to see a nurse. One of the surgeons came through, and Casey’s heart sank. _Dead_. She had to be dead for him to be out here this soon. _Jesus_. He was coming to tell them. Would he even let Casey stay, or would he have to leave while the man officially notified her father?

“Mr. Adderly?” he asked, looking from one to the other of them.

V. H. cleared his throat. “Yes?”

“Your daughter—“ the man broke off, looked at Casey.

“This is Mariah’s fiancé,” V. H. said, falling back on the lie from Banff.

The surgeon went on to say there was considerable blood loss, which Casey already knew, especially since he was wearing a good bit of it. The doctor continued, told them they were doing their best, but the bullet had done a lot of damage—something else Casey didn’t need to be told. The doctor told them someone would keep them up to date on her condition. Casey wanted to tell the bastard to just get back in there and save her. They could talk when she was okay.

Time dragged. Neither man spoke much. Occasionally a nurse came out to try and reassure them, but Casey just glared and said nothing. It was left to V. H. to talk to them, to thank them. Casey simply sat there and came as close to actually praying as he got these days.

When Ariel Taylor breezed in with a white-faced Emma MacKenzie in tow, Casey tried for the first time to act human, even if it was only for the obviously upset girl’s sake. Ariel ignored him for V. H., firing questions at her former partner about Riah’s condition. Emma just stared at Casey, and he wished he had thought to see if he could change clothes. Most of what showed of his once-white shirt was reddish brown with Riah’s dried blood, and his suit and tie were crusty where the blood had soaked in and now dried. Emma sat beside him and asked him quietly if her sister would be alright.

Casey turned his head and looked at her. She looked so much like Riah it hurt. Emma might be blonder and younger, but she was unmistakably Riah’s sister. “We don’t know yet,” he confessed.

She looked like she was going to cry, and Casey hoped she wouldn’t because he had never been able to deal with weepy females—he ignored the fact that he’d been able to deal with Riah when she broke down. The truth was that he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t join Emma if she did. To his surprise, she slipped her long, thin hand in his, and he held it, took some comfort from her light grip on his.

When the surgeon finally came to talk to them again, Casey had lost track of the hours. They had sent her to ICU. The surgeon painstakingly explained the damage and what they had done for Riah. He told them they didn’t know for sure yet that she would survive. When the volunteer arrived to take them to her, Casey followed the others. He was supposed to be on a plane headed to the Middle East by now, but he would at least see her before he went.

They were shown into a waiting room, and Casey became aware of stares from the other people in the room. When the nurse came to tell them they could go back to see Riah, he started to tell V. H. it was time for him to go, but Ariel Taylor put a hand on Casey’s arm and told the nurse to take him back first.

Riah looked so small in the bed, he thought. He stepped to her bedside, and looked down at her. She was so very pale, and she was on a respirator. As he had done the other two times she’d been in the hospital, he took her hand. After a moment, he raised it, kissed it. His other hand touched her temple, and he leaned forward and kissed her forehead, careful not to bump anything. He cleared his throat and whispered her name. He stroked his thumb over her temple. There were several things he wanted to say to her, but not like this. When the nurse came for him, he kissed her forehead again and whispered that he’d see her later.

When he went back into the waiting room, V. H. held his bag. A volunteer stood beside him. He handed Casey his luggage and gestured at the volunteer. “She’s going to take you somewhere you can clean up,” he said. “Apparently, your appearance is disturbing the others.”

Casey stripped out of his blood-caked clothes and got into the shower. The volunteer had taken him to a locker room for the doctors, and he made quick work of washing and redressing in clean clothes. As he zipped his bag closed, he stared at his ruined suit. He emptied the pockets, transferred his badge and credentials from his jacket and his wallet from his trousers. Riah’s blood, he noticed was on the case holding his badge and credentials. He ran a thumb over it. He tucked the leather case in his bag.

He found his cell phone and called General Beckman then, explained what had happened. She wanted him on a plane immediately. For one of the very few times in his life, he refused to do what his commander said. She told him she’d make it an order, and he told her he’d disobey. The silence dragged on while he questioned his sanity. He was about to ruin his career for a woman who might not live. The second he thought that, he sank on the bench behind him, stared blindly at the lockers in front of him. The General didn’t make it an order, conceded that Mariah still worked for the NSA in a roundabout way, and told Casey he could stay until they knew whether she would survive.

For the next couple of days, he didn’t leave the hospital except to shower and catch a few hours of sleep. V. H. gave him a key to Riah’s loft apartment and told him to stay there. It wasn’t far from the hospital, and it allowed her family some privacy, so Casey did. The first time he let himself in, he felt like a thief. She hadn’t invited him in, and she couldn’t object.

He looked around, curious. In Los Angeles, she had done a little to make their apartment more like a home. This was where she lived for real. It had an open floor plan and a stunning view from the ceiling to floor windows. The furniture was big and comfortable. There were two low sofas and a couple of armchairs. Cool greens and blues dominated with touches of red and orange. She had a fireplace, and on the mantel she had lined up family photographs. Most were of Riah and her father, though there were several of Emma, and on one end was her mother’s wedding photo from when she married Ben MacKenzie. There were a number of truly beautiful paintings on the walls, mostly landscapes. He especially liked the seascape, surf breaking on a rocky coast during a storm before a lighthouse. It looked familiar to him, and he finally placed it as one in Newfoundland.

Her kitchen was roomy, and like his in Los Angeles organized with a military precision that let her find what she needed when she needed it without thinking. The stove was one of those expensive professional quality ranges. It and the other appliances gleamed polished stainless steel. The kitchen was separated from the living area by a large island with sinks and a long section of countertop. Two barstools were under one end, and he would bet she sat there in the mornings and read the paper while she drank her coffee and ate breakfast.

There were two bedrooms, the only rooms other than the bath to be sectioned off from the main living area, and when he stepped inside the one she obviously used, he was surprised by the simple lines of the white furniture. The walls were palest sea green with white trim, and the bed was made with crisp white sheets and a comforter. The windows had white sheers under drapes that matched her comforter, both of which were a darker shade of the color on the walls. There were more photographs on her dresser, including one, to his surprise, of the two of them. He lifted it, realized it had been taken the same day as the one he carried with him, and he tried hard not to read anything into that. He looked at the image of Riah in his arms, studied her smile as she looked up at him in the picture, and hoped he would see her do so again.

He put it back on the dresser and looked at the wall. Rather than paintings, there were several bold black and white photographs of buildings—or, more correctly, parts of buildings—in white frames. Her bathroom was almost clinically white—tile, fixtures, towels, all of it. The other bedroom was spartan, contained nothing but a narrow twin bed. He wondered if anyone had ever slept there other than Riah.

Not sure why, Casey chose her bed to sleep in.

 

Casey sat with Riah whenever he could. Somewhere along the line, it finally dawned on him that Ariel Taylor was making sure he had time alone with her daughter. Emma sat beside him during their hours in the waiting room, neither of them talking much. Riah’s parents talked softly from time to time, but they were subdued as well.

When the respirator was removed, he started sitting with her through the nights. Her family went to V. H.’s home at night, but he stayed. The nurses weren’t happy, complained at first, but finally looked the other way. He was about to nod off one night when he heard Riah rasp quietly, “This is starting to be a habit.”

Casey gave a choked laugh as he sat forward. He had her hand in his, and he lifted it to his lips while he sought something to say. “Maybe we should think about breaking it.”

The corners of her mouth lifted a tiny fraction. “I would prefer that.” She winced a little.

He stood and leaned down, pressed his lips softly against hers. “I never want to go through that again.” She closed her eyes and made a sound like a soft moan. “Do you want me to call the nurse?” She nodded faintly. He pushed the call button for her.

They made him leave, so he phoned V. H. from the waiting room, told the other man she was awake and that the doctor was with her. Riah’s family arrived about the time the doctor came out to talk to him, and Casey listened as she told them Riah still had a ways to go and there were still no guarantees she would recover, though they thought her chances were considerably better now. He watched Riah’s parents sag, put their arms around one another and then pull Emma in. He realized he no longer had an excuse to stay, so he turned and walked away.

Casey made quick work of repacking his things. As he let himself out, he realized he still had the keys to Riah’s apartment. He decided he’d go back by the hospital and leave them with V. H. before he caught the flight General Beckman arranged for him. He would fly to St. John’s in Newfoundland and pick up an American military transport from there. The General called him with his flight details as he sat in the taxi on his way back to the hospital. He had three hours before it left.

As he entered the waiting room, he saw Emma first. She looked angry. “Mariah’s asking for you,” she said when he walked up to her.

Casey ignored her statement. “Where are your parents?”

“My father’s in Chicago,” she told him curtly. “If you mean Mom and V. H., they’re in with Mariah.”

Handing her Riah’s keys, he said, “I have a plane to catch. Give these to V. H. and tell him thanks.”

When he turned to go, Emma grabbed his sleeve. He jerked his arm loose, but she persisted. She followed him as he stalked down the hall. “You’re not even going to go say goodbye to her, are you?” He kept walking. “Is this what you do, Casey? Just walk away?” She scored a direct hit with that accusation, and his steps faltered. He ignored it, though, kept moving. “Is that why you were nowhere to be found when she lost the baby?”

That one stopped him in his tracks. He turned to face her, certain he had not heard what he thought she said. He stared at her furious face and read the truth there. It felt like a physical blow. His chest tightened, and his lungs seized. He took a step toward Emma, then another. “What?” His voice sounded wrong.

Emma’s face didn’t soften, nor did she moderate her tone. “Mariah was pregnant when you disappeared. She miscarried several weeks ago.”

Casey dropped his bag and grasped Emma’s arms. “Why didn’t someone tell me?”

Emma blinked. “I thought you knew.”

“No.” His thoughts raced. He knew now why V. H. been so adamant that he call Riah, why he had sent his best operative to find him so he could insist Casey call her. He knew, too, why she hadn’t responded to his e-mail or called him. He knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t chase him down. He also understood why Ariel had made sure he had time alone with her. His thoughts were jumbled, and Casey kept thinking how much he wished V. H. had just told him. He would have still been half a world away, but he would have made sure she understood he hadn’t abandoned her.

“Casey, we thought you knew.”

“You just thought I didn’t care,” he said bitterly. Emma’s face blanched. He studied her pinched face. “Emma—“

In the distance, he could see V. H. and Ariel returning to the ICU waiting room. Emma took his arm and dragged him back toward them. He felt numb and more than a little betrayed. Not one of them had said a word to him about Riah’s pregnancy in all those hours they had waited together, waited to learn if she would live or die. Even Ariel, who usually took great pleasure in verbally stabbing him in whatever weak underbelly she thought she could find, hadn’t said anything. When they reached Riah’s parents, V. H. took his bag. Emma continued to lead him toward Riah’s room. She sent him in alone.

It looked like Riah was asleep again, but he must have made a noise of some sort. She lifted a hand to scrub her knuckles against her eye before she opened both of her eyes and looked at him. She blinked. “John?”

He crossed to her bed and leaned down. “Hi.”

She blinked sleepily. “These are pretty good drugs,” she slurred.

“I’m glad,” he said, amused despite himself. He searched for the words, but he couldn’t find them.

“Mmm.” Her eyes drooped.

“I’m glad you’re alive, Riah,” he said. It wasn’t what he should have said, he knew, but he didn’t have the words for the other. He was still trying to take it in, and he couldn’t help feeling it was a conversation they should have when she wasn’t so sedated she couldn’t focus. He reached a hand out and cupped her cheek.

“Me, too,” she added, “but when the drugs wear off, I probably won’t be.”

He knew from experience how true that was. He leaned down and kissed her. Her lips clung to his a moment. He wanted to lie down beside her, wanted to hold her, wanted to tell her he’d never let anything like this happen to her again. “Riah,” he whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She looked up at him, and he could see she struggled to stay awake. “I don’t know where you are.”

Casey frowned. “I’m right here.”

Riah lifted a hand, but it barely brushed his cheek before it dropped again. “Mmm. You feel real.”

He watched her eyes flutter closed, but then she pulled them open again. “Riah.” She looked at him, though he wasn’t sure she really saw him.

“They’re going to fire me this time,” she whispered.

They wouldn’t, he knew. What had happened had not been her fault. She had done what she was supposed to do, and it definitely wasn’t her fault some moron decided to try and kill her. “I don’t think so,” he said softly.

“Mmm,” she said. “I lost two of the team and a hostage. The terrorists got away. I’m toast.” Her words were slurring more, so he knew she was about to go down for the count again.

“Riah,” he said softly, deciding to try once more when her eyes opened again. “I didn’t leave you. I had to go where the job sent me. I would have come if I had known you needed me.”

Casey breathed in, marshalled the nerve to say something more explicit, to tell her he knew about the baby. Before he could, though, she spoke.

“Job comes first,” she said. He leaned closer as her voice weakened. “Job always comes first.”

She was out again, and he stared down at her, puzzled. She knew the job, she knew they had to put it first, but why had that sounded so curiously bitter? He watched her sleep a moment, and then he leaned forward and kissed her softly before he laid the hand he held gently back beside her. As he walked back to the waiting room, he made a decision. He would stay until he could talk to her, until he could make her understand.

Her family stared at him when he came back out. Casey suspected from the looks on their faces Emma had told them he now knew. He didn’t care. He felt curiously empty. And tired. He felt exhausted, but he really hadn’t done anything to tire him. As he approached Riah’s family, he noticed two things: how much older her parents looked and the sympathy on Ariel Taylor’s face as she watched him.

V. H. asked him something, but he didn’t hear it. He looked at Riah’s father and frowned. V. H.’s lips twisted a moment. “My driver will take you to the airport.”

Casey’s shoulders slumped. “I think I’ll stay a while longer,” he heard himself say. He needed to retract that, but he didn’t have the energy. He swallowed, decided he needed to sit down. After he sank into a chair, he planted his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his palms. Pregnant. She had been pregnant. She had lost the baby, and she had been alone. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed and breathed in deeply. He dropped his hands from his face and stared unseeing at a square of tile on the floor of the waiting room. It kept running through his head, again and again, but he remained numb.

A hand curved over his shoulder, and he heard his name. He looked up slowly. Ariel Taylor quietly told him Riah was awake again and asked if he wanted to see her. He stood and walked blindly to her room.

He stopped in the doorway and looked at her. He made himself walk forward, and when she saw him, she gave him a fuzzy smile. He realized she might be awake, but she was still heavily drugged. He ached to hold her, to ask what had happened, but he did neither. Instead he leaned down and kissed her. She lifted a hand and cupped his cheek as she weakly returned the kiss. He covered her hand with his and turned his head to kiss her palm.

“Missed you,” she said, her voice still raspy.

“I missed you, too,” he admitted.

She sighed, closed her eyes. Casey thought she must have gone back to sleep, so he started to put her hand down once more. She opened her eyes and asked, “Did they tell you I got shot?”

He gave her hand a slight squeeze and suppressed a shudder, remembered the blood pool, remembered how he had thought she would slip away from him. He reached out and cupped her cheek with his free hand. “I was there.”

“I thought I heard you,” she said faintly.

Casey began to realize she didn’t think he was actually there. She had as much as said so the other times he had talked to her. He supposed it was the drugs. Casey stooped, and when she opened her eyes, he leaned closer. “Riah,” he said quietly, but the words left him as she looked into his eyes.

“John,” she whispered, “I wish you would come home.”

She looked like she would cry, and he kissed her once more. “I can’t come home yet,” he told her. “I still have a job to do, but I’ll come home as soon as I can.”

“Your replacement gives me the creeps,” she said, and her eyelids drooped.

He froze. _Replacement?_ Beckman had sent someone to take his place on Mission Moron. Oddly, he felt betrayed by that. “How so?”

“He hits on me.” She rubbed her cheek against the hand cupping it. “He keeps coming over and trying to get me to let him in, and he keeps asking me out.” She made a face, and her body gave a spasm. She clearly was in some pain, but she continued, “I don’t like him, and neither does Chuck.”

Casey didn’t like what she said. Riah was his, and there was some jumped up NSA or CIA operative trying to move in on her. He was about to ask her who this guy was, but she grimaced once more. “I’m tired, now,” she said, and her eyes drooped closed. “Come home, John.”

She was out again, and he looked down at her as she slept. He shot a glance at the clock. His flight had just left without him, he realized. He wished he didn’t care, but he did. He had a sterling service record, and he had just tarnished it.

The rest of the day and the early evening went much the same way. Riah was awake and somewhat lucid for brief periods of time, and when Casey took his turn to visit her, she was alternately asleep or floating in a drug haze. He didn’t try to talk to her about them, about the baby, but he did once try to draw who his replacement was out of her.

Emma and he were talking quietly about finding dinner somewhere when he heard a distinctive sound in the hallway. He looked up at two U. S. Marine MPs, and he knew Beckman had sent them after him. The senior MP was a sergeant, he noted, and the man came straight to Casey. The guy was only about five-nine, so Casey stood up and stood straight, went for intimidating. “Major Casey?” the sergeant said. The kid next to him couldn’t have been much more than nineteen and looked suitably cowed by Casey’s scowl.

“Yeah?”

“Sir, we’re here to—.”

Casey cut him off. “Let’s take this outside, Sergeant.”

He walked slightly ahead of and between the two Marines. When they were outside, he stopped. “Sir, we’re here to take you into custody,” the sergeant told him. Casey noted that he didn’t say he was being arrested. He also checked the smart-alec instinct that made him want to ask _and whose army_? The guy had a job to do, and Casey was willing to bet he’d never been pulled from embassy duty to do something like this before.

“Let’s go,” Casey said agreeably. He wasn’t going to fight this. Sooner or later he would be talking to Beckman, and, in the meantime, he wasn’t going to make trouble for a noncom doing his job.

They took him to the embassy, and from there he was escorted to the local intelligence officer. Casey knew the man across the desk from him. They shook hands, and Michael Tinsley dismissed the Marines with thanks. As he gestured for Casey to take a seat, Mike resumed his own. “You’ve caused a lot of trouble, Casey.”

“Not the first time,” he returned.

“Beckman says you’re AWOL.” Mike raised a brow.

He shrugged. “There’s a first time for everything after all,” Casey said easily. Truthfully, he was uncomfortable with all this. He had always done his job, rarely questioned his orders, but this time he felt betrayed by his superiors.

Mike apparently expected him to say more, but Casey didn’t. Instead, he lifted an ankle on to the opposite knee, and folded his hands over his abdomen. He stared placidly back at the other man. Mike finally sighed and picked up the phone. “He’s here,” Casey heard him tell whoever was on the other end. He imagined it was Beckman. “Yes, ma’am,” Mike said and hung up.

For a second, Casey thought the General had actually come to Ottawa after him. Tinsley, though, stood and gestured for Casey to follow him. He was led to a communications room, and Casey was dismayed to realize it was going to be the next best thing to a face-to-face dressing down. Tinsley made the connection to Beckman and then, tactfully, left the room.

It was easy to see how pissed off General Beckman was. She usually looked unhappy, but she was unmistakably furious. “Major Casey,” she ground out, “you had orders to catch a plane for deployment to Afghanistan. Why are you still in Ottawa, and why did I have to send Marines to retrieve you?”

Casey had planned to take his dressing down and then go when she had him escorted to the airport. Instead, he resisted. Riah had occasionally sniped that she had rarely had a choice in her life, that if her godfather wasn’t pulling the strings she danced to then her father was. He suddenly knew the feeling. “General,” he began calmly, “may I ask why I was never informed that Mariah was pregnant or that she had miscarried?”

He couldn’t be sure, vagaries of monitors and such being what they were, but the General seemed to blanch. “That’s irrelevant, Major,” she snapped.

“On the contrary, General,” he returned, and he let a little of his own anger creep into his voice. “It’s completely relevant to the matter at hand.”

She leaned forward and folded her hands on her blotter. “It happened two months ago, Major, and you were inaccessible. Be that as it may, you are AWOL, you have disobeyed orders, and I would like to know why I should not have you court-martialed forthwith.”

Casey ground his teeth. “With all due respect, General,” he began, but she cut him off.

“Major, I would suggest you not pursue this line of discussion.”

He heard the steel in her voice, and he was about to override his desire to preserve his job when her adjutant handed her something. He let her read it, tried to rein his temper in, and decided he would do what he was told like the good little major he had always been. He had, after all, borrowed time that was not his.

Beckman frowned at the paper and nodded to the adjutant before dismissing him. She looked even angrier when she turned her attention back to Casey. “V. H. Adderly just called. Apparently, your services are still required by ISI, Major. He says that you have not yet completed your duties as evaluator. He will arrange for you to meet with the teams involved so that you can share your observations with them.” She picked up the paper once more. “He suggests day after tomorrow. I will let him know that is acceptable and arrange to have you escorted to meet your flight once you are finished.”

The General gave him one last steely-eyed look and disconnected.

Tinsley was on the phone again when Casey walked back through. When he hung up, he gave Casey a curious look. “I see you’re still one lucky bastard.”

He grunted, and Tinsley told him he was free to go.

Adderly’s driver waited outside, and the man opened the back of the car as Casey approached. Casey stepped inside. Neither of the MPs had been in sight as he left the building. The driver returned him to the hospital, and when he reached the ICU waiting room, Casey found V. H. waiting for him.

“They moved Mariah while you were gone,” he said, and he gestured for Casey to go with him. As they walked down the corridor to the elevator, he told Casey, “Diane’s furious, so I doubt I can keep you here any longer.” Riah’s father gave him a sidelong look, and his mouth hooked up. “Unless you want to defect.”

Casey snorted. “Whoever heard of an American defecting to Canada?”

V. H. grinned. “You’re old enough to remember Vietnam.”

“That was desertion,” he growled. He knew the other man was joking, but it was no joke to Casey. He would not desert his country, not even for Riah.

He spent as much time as he could with her over the next two days, but she was no more lucid than she had been in ICU. He spent one afternoon at ISI answering questions about how he came to be the evaluator on Riah’s training mission, what he saw, and his relationship with Riah. He nearly refused to answer the last set of questions until he remembered Riah’s mike had still been working, and the recordings would reveal what he and she had said to one another. He told them that he and Riah worked together, lived together, and refused to tell them more. He explained he had not known Riah would be part of the exercise when he was told he was to evaluate it. He suspected the panel didn’t believe him, knew he wouldn’t in their circumstances, and he wondered why his relationship with Riah was remotely pertinent to what had happened.

His frustration grew as his time shortened, and when he visited Riah before the MPs were due to collect him, he found her as doped up as she had been every other time he had seen her. He wanted—no, needed—to talk to her, but he wouldn’t do it this way.

After they had yet another tangled conversation where she still didn’t realize he was actually there, he leaned in and kissed her. “I have to go,” he whispered. He hoped like hell she didn’t ask him to stay.

“Be safe,” she mumbled faintly, “wherever you are.”

Casey frowned down at her. _What did that mean?_ He dismissed it as the drugs talking. He had almost never said goodbye to anyone other than his family, and he didn’t know if he could do it. He had promised Emma, though. “Bye, Riah,” he choked out.

She didn’t answer this time, and he pressed his lips to her forehead and straightened. When he left her room, Emma looked considerably less hostile. She put her arms around him and said, “Thanks.” He returned her hug awkwardly.

They rejoined Riah’s parents. “Diane called,” V. H. said. “You’re leaving as soon as you finish the debriefing.”

Ariel said nothing, and Casey figured that was better than her usual sniping remarks, though he had been uncharacteristically spared those the last several days. He nodded to her, and Emma gave him a brief smile. He nodded to her as well before walking away with V. H.

 

Casey met Riah’s team in one of the classrooms at the training facility after he’d finished with the negotiating team. When he walked in, they sat there laughing, waiting for him. It pissed him off, especially since Riah was still semi-lucid in a hospital bed, so he scowled when he entered, carrying the clipboard with his notes. They shut up when he stepped to the front of the room. Someone had put the maps and the floor plans on the wall at the front of the room.

He looked around, spotted where Faraday’s friend Parker was, and made note of the way the man sprawled in his chair. The others at least sat like humans. It was Parker he would give special attention to, not least because he had been one of the two who ignored Riah’s direct order and started the sequence that led to the mission failure.

The man who had designed the training scenario and overseen it called them to order, apologized for the delay in the debriefing, and gave them a cautious update on Riah’s condition. Parker remained sprawled and inattentive, but at least the others were listening. Casey was introduced as the evaluator, and he stepped up. There were a few of them who recognized the name, he noticed, and that was a little gratifying. He started with the chatter. Parker made faces like a six year old as Casey noted the frequency with which the team was off task and talking. He pointed out that they were distracted during this time, neither listening nor concentrating on what was going on with the mission. Parker snorted and said, “We knew what we were doing.”

Casey stared him down. He moved on to the orders they disobeyed and the consequences of those decisions. Parker once again made a comment, and then the man took it one step too far: “Adderly didn’t know what she was doing.”

He rounded on the man. “Adderly was getting the job done. Frankly, she was about the only professional out there.”

Parker’s, “Teacher’s pet,” earned him a couple of chuckles, and Casey calmly and with lethal speed drew a weapon and shot the man in the chest. It had only been a tranq dart, and a mildly dosed one at that. Riah would never have forgiven him for killing the man, but it felt good to shoot him, even if the result was neither deadly nor put the man out completely.

There was no question he had their undivided attention as he reholstered the tranq gun. He started to deconstruct the assault on the terrorists, but Parker said incredulously, “You shot me!” Casey did it again, basically for the hell of it, all the while continuing to detail errors and miscalculations, and he dinged the absent Riah a few times. While much of the debacle had not been her fault, she had made a mistake or two, especially toward the end.

Even though the darts had fairly mild doses, he was a little impressed Parker was still awake enough to say with some venom, “Fucking American prick! You _shot_ me!” Casey did it a third time, still talking about the botched mission. He didn’t miss a beat, and it felt good to nail the little bastard again.

He was losing the others, though, as their eyes darted back and forth between him and Parker, waiting to see what Parker would do, waiting to see if Casey would shoot him again. Casey, for his part, wondered if he should risk a head shot with the next dart—he was positive there would be a next dart—or go for the chest again. There were pros and cons, and he’d never shot anyone in the head with one of these before.

Might be interesting to see what happened.

Casey started to talk about their individual performances. He’d had to ask V.H. for names, and he’d been provided with photographs which he had attached to his notes to help him identify them. When he got to the third man on his list, the woman seated next to him asked, “Sir, is Parker going to be alright?”

It was easy for him to ignore her question, but then Parker slurred, “I’m dying here.” Casey nailed him in the chest again.

He stepped over to Parker, who slumped over the table before him, and held the man’s head up by his hair. He leaned down and used the soft, vicious voice that made his junior officers quake. “One of these days, that mouth of yours will get you killed. Shut it. Listen for a change. Do what your team leader tells you. You might live another day. For now, you’re going to sleep about fourteen to twenty hours.” He dropped the man’s head and had a bit of satisfaction at the thump his skull made when it came into contact with the desk in front of him.

Casey finished the debriefing and with the trainer discussed with the still alert members of the tactical team what to do next time, other ways they could have handled the mission, and then they dismissed them. Casey watched V. H. enter the room. He figured he was about to be in trouble for shooting Parker, but he didn’t much care. Adderly wasn’t his boss, and he was soon out of there.

V.H. wore a grin when he reached him and the trainer. “Why didn’t I think of shooting him?” He looked over at where Parker slumped unconscious on the table.

The trainer laughed. “I think that crowd will be too frightened to talk in future, and Parker’s always been a worthless fuck.” He eyed Casey. “Mind if I take a look at that?”

Casey handed it over, and they talked about the gun and the darts a few minutes. When the trainer gave it back, Casey holstered it and shook the man’s hand. The man picked Parker up in a fireman’s lift and left Casey and Adderly alone.

“You shot one of my operatives—multiple times.”

“He deserved it.”

“I didn’t say he didn’t.” V. H. sat on the table and looked at Casey. “When are you leaving?”

Casey shrugged. He had a message on his phone from Beckman, but he hadn’t played it yet. “As soon as you release me.”

“Diane’s been on the phone insisting you leave immediately.” V. H. looked at him. “I can keep you here if you want.”

He was tempted, but there was no way around the MPs who dogged his steps. Beckman would know he’d done the debriefing and expect him to be on the first plane out. He suspected the MPs had orders to see that he was. He met V. H.’s eyes. “I don’t think you can,” he said quietly as the day’s two MPs appeared at the back of the room.

V. H. looked over his shoulder at them before turning back to Casey. He sighed. “No, I guess not—unless I press charges for shooting my operative, and even that would only delay the inevitable.” He raised his brows in question. “Your boss is determined to get you off to wherever she’s sending you.” Casey was tempted to take the chance he dangled before him, tempted to let Adderly arrest him and stay a while longer while the Canadians bickered with Beckman over him, but he was afraid Beckman would just cut her losses and fire him. He shook his head at V. H. regretfully, and the other man gestured for Casey to go ahead then fell into step beside him. “If you don’t hear from me, she’s alright.”

Casey nodded. He stopped just out of earshot of the MPs. “I want to know—no more games—if anything happens to her.” He handed the other man a business card with nothing but his personal number typed on its white surface. “Anything. Even if it’s only a stubbed toe.”

The other man looked like he was about to say something, but then he visibly changed his mind. He held out his hand and shook Casey’s. “Don’t get yourself killed—for her sake.”

He snorted. “Don’t let her get killed.” Casey walked toward the MPs alone, and when they were on their way, stared unseeing out the car that took him to the airport.


	9. Chapter 9

There finally came a time when she woke up and knew she was, for lack of a better word, sober. Mariah looked around in the dim light and identified her location as hospital, but she couldn’t at first think what had brought her there. She remembered the training exercise but little else. As she came more fully awake, she remembered her failure in command, and then she recognized the throbbing pain in her back and chest for what it was. She had been shot. She remembered asking Faraday to come down, she remembered removing her vest, and she remembered hitting the pavement.

The pain grew, she finally gave in and hit the call button for the nurse. It didn’t take long for one to arrive, and she told the woman in yellow scrubs she hurt—a lot. The nurse asked her a series of questions before leaving to get a doctor. That seemed to take forever, and Mariah wished they would hurry.

When the doctor came, he was a tall, thin, colorless man who made Mariah inexplicably think of a mortician. Mariah submitted to questions, lame jokes, and an examination. She was told she was very lucky, and as she listened to the doctor explain the damage the bullet had done, she was relieved that ISI kept a good medical team on hand during exercises. She was sternly told how very close to bleeding to death she had come. He so intimidated her with his lecture she nearly promised to bleed slower next time. The doctor had the nurse administer a painkiller. He told Mariah that over the next several days they would wean her off the narcotics and on to other drugs and see how she did. She nodded.

Alone once more, she tried to sort through the weird dreams, tried to figure out what was real and what was not. She was pretty sure her parents had been real. She thought Emma was as well. John had to be a complete hallucination, no matter how much she might wish otherwise.

She stayed awake, listened to the sounds of the hospital, and thought. She heard steps enter the room and turned her head to see her father. She wondered if he would yell at her yet. He bent and kissed her forehead before taking the chair beside her bed. “When I got here a little while ago,” he said, “they told me you were finally alert.”

Mariah gave him a slight smile. “You can tell Digger Cobb that you sure as hell do hear the shot that hits you.”

Her father laughed. “Tell him yourself,” he offered with a grin, “though I believe he always maintained it was the one that killed you that you wouldn’t hear.” She watched her father’s face blanch, sober, but then he regrouped. “You didn’t follow rules, Mariah, and that nearly killed you. What possessed you to remove your vest?”

He wasn’t yelling, she reminded herself. “I was sweltering out there on the pavement, covered head to foot in heavy black and several pounds of gear, in full sun, on a nearly record heat day. The exercise was over, and I took it off to get a little relief.”

“You had a hostile sniper, fully armed and in position, and you took your vest off.”

She closed her eyes a minute. As she frequently did, she wondered how much of this was boss and how much was father. “He shouldn’t have had live ammo, Dad.”

“Shouldn’t have, but did,” he said, his brows drawn down. “Mariah, all he had to do was come down. He was going to finish second, and Thompson didn’t want the anti-terrorist slot. It was Faraday’s for the asking. You made two errors serious enough to knock you out of the top slot—and those were before you failed to follow procedure and removed your vest.” Her father breathed in deeply and then slowly released it. “He charged favoritism, and there’s evidence you did get some.”

There was no point in challenging that, so she didn’t. She had been aware that at least one instructor was making things easy on her, but that had meant he had had to loosen standards for them all.

“On the other hand,” he continued, “there’s also some evidence you faced some prejudice for the same reason.” She nodded. “There will be an investigation, and, unfortunately, it’s going to be much broader than just the shooting.”

Mariah closed her eyes. Her father had narrowly escaped Gray Laurance’s whispering campaign, and now she might be the final straw that brought him down. “Will I need to resign?” she asked.

He snorted. “Probably not,” he conceded, “and before you go to the dark place, neither will I. I initiated no contact with anyone on the Institute’s staff other than to issue the order for the independent evaluator. As soon as the first complaints came in, I redirected any accusations related to you to another administrator for resolution. I’ll be cleared, but you are going to have to answer some questions.”

Nodding, she said, “Then we should probably stop talking now.”

Her father agreed and then told her, “I’ve told Diane you won’t be going back to Los Angeles for a while. She’s agreed to make sure that your cover job is held until we know how this will be resolved and until we know you’re up to it.”

Mariah nodded again. When he covered her hand with his, she turned her hand to grip his. “I assume Faraday was arrested?”

“As soon as he hit street level,” her father said, and then he tilted his head. “Why?”

“I’ve been lying here thinking about it. It doesn’t make sense, Dad,” she said. “As you said, I made two mistakes.” She stopped, frowned, tried to figure out what they were, but couldn’t. “I assume someone will tell me what those were?” At his nod, she continued, “He had to have known that, so why shoot me? He didn’t like me, but I don’t think he hated me. Not only that, but by shooting me on the training ground, surrounded by a number of ISI operatives—not to mention the Director General—he guaranteed he lost the one thing he wanted, and he got caught.”

Her father sat back and studied her. “Mariah, who else could it have been?”

She had no answer for that, and she admitted as much. "I just find it hard to believe he was that stupid.” She looked up at her father. “The one thing I would never call Faraday is stupid, Dad. Arrogant, yes. Ambitious, definitely. Cunning, no question. If he did this, then he didn’t think it through enough to realize that after weeks of confrontation with me, he was going to be the number one suspect even if he hadn’t been on the roof when it happened.”

“Have you considered that he didn’t plan it, that it was a crime of opportunity?” She mulled that over. “Maybe he didn’t think about it until you took the vest off, Mariah.”

Perhaps that was so, she acknowledged, but she figured Faraday would have loved one more chance to taunt her. She suspected he would have enjoyed poking her over her failure. “I don’t think he’d take his resentment out that way, Dad. He was always smart enough to step back from taking that last step over the line with me.”

“When they interview you, tell them that,” he said, but Mariah could tell her father wasn’t convinced.

After he was gone, she thought about it more, considered what she knew of Faraday, and she still reached the same conclusion: she simply didn’t believe he would jeopardize his career by trying to kill her. From what the doctor had told her, whoever shot her had been trying to kill her—not hurt her, not scare her.

Her mother and Emma came in after she finished a breakfast she largely didn’t eat, and Mariah was glad to see the both of them. Her sister grinned and said, “Guess you’re going to live, so I can’t have all those cool clothes of yours, not to mention all the serious jewelry.”

Mariah started to laugh, but it hurt too much. “You’re a good five inches taller than I am, Em. What on earth makes you think my clothes would fit you?”

Her sister grinned. “I notice you didn’t mention the jewelry.”

“You’re going to make me laugh,” Mariah said, “and that’s going to make me hemorrhage." Emma’s face paled. “Kidding,” Mariah told her, though she wasn’t entirely sure.

She explained to her mother what the doctor had told her when she woke up in the early hours. Her mother told her she had heard that from her father. “Did I imagine talking to you?” she asked.

Emma looked startled, but her mother was the one who said, “We got here while you were still in surgery, Mariah. Emma and I—your father, too—were in and out when you woke.”

Mariah didn’t think she imagined the looks passing between her mother and sister. “I thought John was here,” she said, “but I must have imagined him because that’s impossible.”

There was an oppressive silence, and Emma looked like she was about to confess a crime. Her mother looked shocked. “What makes you think you imagined him?”

She frowned at her mother’s question. “He’s gone, Mum. Beckman wouldn’t call him home for me even if I died.”

“Mariah—“ her mother began, but a nurse came in to take her vital signs and check on her. She asked the woman if she had to continue lying flat, and the nurse helped elevate her a little.

When the nurse left, they moved on to other subjects. It wasn’t until much later that she wondered what her mother had intended to say.

Mariah dozed the rest of the morning, roused for lunch, then impatiently listened to daytime talk shows. If she had to endure television, she wished there were more channels from which to choose. Finally, in frustration, she found a news channel she largely ignored. When Emma turned up in her doorway, Mariah was relieved to see the Chapters bag in her sister’s hand, and she was even more glad to see the three books and two magazines inside. Her sister didn’t stay long, told Mariah she had to get back to school.

Over the next few days, she slept, ate when they brought her food, and read. When her parents visited, she talked to them. The day she was finally released, she went to her father's house where she was coddled for a couple more days by her father and his housekeeper, Mrs. Munson. Her third day out of the hospital, she was driven to ISI where she sat in a conference room and answered questions about her training courses and instructors, and then, after a break, they asked her about her shooting. She repeated what she had told her father—that she wasn’t convinced Faraday was the shooter. When asked, though, she had to admit she didn’t know who else might have done it.

As they were about to finish, one of the panel asked her a question that threw her off balance. She was tired after nearly four hours of questions, so when she was asked how well she knew the independent evaluator who had been brought in for the training exercise, she was baffled. Finally, she admitted she didn’t know who had done the evaluation.

No one told her, either, she noted.

She was mending quickly, though she still had some pain now and then. She was trying to go without the painkillers as much as possible, but she almost always gave in and took them to get to sleep at night. She was cleared to return to Los Angeles, but a part of Mariah wished they would keep her in Canada. She didn’t much feel like going back to an empty apartment and people she couldn’t really talk to, people for whom she had to pretend. Her father waited while she packed her things at her apartment. There was a whiskey glass in the sink, which she knew she hadn’t put there, and when she went into her bedroom, she had the feeling someone had been there despite the fact nothing seemed out of place. She shook it off as paranoia, her imagination, and figured her mother, maybe Emma, had been there.

Her father nagged her on the way to the airport. She partially tuned out his list of do’s and don’ts, especially since they echoed those from her doctor. He then handed her a packet, and she looked inside to find her weapon and the contact information for a doctor on NSA stationary. A separate memo from Beckman gave her the cover story to explain her extended absence and injuries—she had been mugged while visiting John. Mariah noted there was nothing about whether or not she should admit to having been shot.

It was an uncomfortable flight, even though she made it in her father’s plane. She had been startled that he had Isobel Gerrard go with her. Mrs. Gerrard was a legendary operative, supposedly retired now. She _was_ the textbook, Mariah knew, and she was a friend of her father’s. Mariah tried not to think about what that might mean. Still, it was nice to have someone to talk to when she couldn’t sleep.

When they were airborne, Mrs. Gerrard turned to face Mariah. “V. H. needs a little more information, Mariah, and this was the only way he could get it and do so without the appearance of meddling in an inquiry about his daughter.”

She relaxed a bit, drew breath, and tried to hide the twinge of pain that set off. Intercepting Mrs. Gerrard’s expectant look, she nodded. For the next couple of hours, she answered questions about Faraday. She talked about what had happened during the six weeks at the Institute—and she talked about her own assessment of the instructors and their treatment of her. She talked about the prep for the training exercise, about the exercise itself, and about what little she could remember about being shot. When asked, she told the other woman why she thought it wasn’t Faraday.

At the end of it, Mrs. Gerrard looked at her gravely. “Mariah, they’ve reviewed the video recordings again and again, V. H. included. They interviewed the independent evaluator. Everyone is certain the shot came from Faraday.”

She closed her eyes. “They matched the bullet to his gun?” she asked.

When the whine of the engines continued to be the only noise, Mariah opened her eyes once more. Mrs. Gerrard looked troubled. “They never found the bullet, Mariah, but his rifle had been fired, and there was live ammunition in it. Your injuries were consistent with a bullet of that caliber fired from above.”

“Why does no one ask the obvious question?” Mariah asked softly.

Mrs. Gerrard looked taken aback, and Mariah waited for her to figure it out. “What _is_ the obvious question?”

“Mick Faraday is Canada’s top sniper, one of the world’s best. I was just standing there—I wasn’t fidgeting or moving. Why am I not dead?” Mrs. Gerrard’s mouth opened and then closed. She frowned, and then repeated the movements. Mariah watched her thoughts chase across her face, realized the other woman was so startled she wasn’t wearing what Mariah used to call Operative Face, that bland, smooth, emotionless mask they all used when they had to hide something but the mind was racing out of control. She sighed. “If he wanted me dead, he should have taken the head shot. I wasn’t wearing my helmet. Why wait until I removed my vest? Even if he decided to shoot me in the chest, he’s killed enough men that way to know where to shoot. So why not the head shot, and why miss?”

“Faraday didn’t miss, Mariah.”

“I’m alive,” Mariah reminded her. “Working from the apparent theory of the crime, by definition, he missed.”

She was tired again, so she decided to leave Mrs. Gerrard to think through the implications of those questions and slid away into sleep.

When, Mariah woke, the plane was about to land. They were entering a smaller airport in the greater Los Angeles area, one frequented by businessmen, she was told. She had not removed her seatbelt, so she waited. When they were on the ground and the plane stopped, Mrs. Gerrard handed her the sling she had taken off when they boarded, and Mariah handed it right back. The older woman told her, “You are supposed to be a mugging victim. This gives you a reason to favor your right side, and by limiting your movement, maybe you’ll keep from pulling anything loose before you’re fully healed.” Mariah had pulled stitches loose three times already trying to do things she shouldn’t have attempted yet. “Your father suggested putting the arm and your upper body in a cast, but that seemed unnecessary.”

They dealt with customs, and Mariah wondered about her firearm—not to mention whatever weaponry Isobel Gerrard had on her—but they weren’t checked too thoroughly. She had the answer as to why when she looked up from where the pilot unloaded her luggage and saw Sarah Walker approach. Mrs. Gerrard stepped forward, moved to kiss Mariah’s cheek, but whispered instead, “ _No one_ knows what really happened—your father’s orders.” She nodded when the other woman stepped back and boarded the plane.

“I’ll take that,” Walker said smoothly when Mariah bent to pick up her bag. Since she was hurting again, she let the CIA officer get it. She followed Walker to her Porsche and eased into the passenger seat while the other woman stashed her case. When they were underway, Walker asked casually, “Training, huh?”

Mariah nodded.

She was grateful when Walker chattered about her own refresher training mishaps. Mariah knew the tactic for what it was—girl talk leading to Mariah sharing why she was late returning to Los Angeles and wearing a sling. She closed her eyes, feigned sleep.

When she was safely inside her apartment, she noticed someone had been in and dusted at least. She wondered, despite not really being hungry, if there was anything edible in the apartment, but she assumed if they had come in and cleaned, they had probably stocked the fridge. She opened the door to an unopened bottle of milk, a new carton of eggs, fresh vegetables and other proof that if there had been any science projects growing, a hazmat team had dealt with them. She took a reusable water bottle from a cabinet, filled it with ice, then ran tap water into it before screwing the lid on it. She was about to go upstairs when Beckman’s voice called her from the living room.

She stepped back to face the monitor. “You look like hell,” Beckman said tartly.

“Nice to know I look as good as I feel,” Mariah snapped right back.

The General was obviously taken aback, but not for long. “Your father sent me your updated medical report, Miss Adderly.” Mariah waited, sure a response from her was not necessary. “Your wound was serious enough I am willing to relieve you of duty until you are more fully healed.”

“I could have stayed in Canada if that was necessary,” Mariah said evenly.

“True,” the General said. “If you feel up to the doing the cover job, Miss Adderly, go right ahead. We’ll leave the government work for a while longer, though.”

The woman didn’t wait to see what Mariah’s response might be. Of course she hadn’t been doing any real “government work” before her father had sent her for further training, so that would make little difference to Mariah’s existence in Los Angeles. It did, though, beg the question of why she had been brought back.

When she returned to the Buy More, she spent a lot of time explaining the sling, and she wished she had just left it off. Emmett Milbarge, especially, went after the details. Mariah tried deflection, but he kept circling around it. He was suspicious, and by the end of her first day back, she was tempted to just remove her shirt and let him see the wound simply to have him finally shut up. He’d probably pass out, was her cranky conclusion, so she entertained it for just that reason. On her second day, Chuck put her on the desk and on the phone. She fielded a call from a customer checking on a laptop she had brought in for repair. Mariah put her on hold and pulled the work order noting the work had been done, but since it was Jeff, she knew to check before confirming that with the customer. She headed for the cage.

As she walked back to the desk—Jeff had, for once, actually done his job—she was deep in thought. Nerd Herd work didn’t always challenge the brain, so she had lots of time to think through other issues. What occupied her thoughts most of the time was her shooting.

She wasn’t sure why she dwelled on the nagging thought that even though it was apparent Faraday did it, she was uncomfortable with the idea. Perhaps it was because, as her father suggested on the phone the night before, she just didn’t want to think about having an enemy who hated her that much. Mariah had had enemies since she was a child. The idea no longer got to her as badly as it once had; however, she continued to pick at the questions she had asked Isobel Gerrard while she walked back to the desk.

Because it was early on a Tuesday morning and Emmett Milbarge wouldn’t be in for another hour, much of the Buy More staff was using the lack of customers and an assistant manager to indulge in the games they preferred to work. This morning it seemed to be a strange version of football. Mariah ignored them as best she could, but when she sprawled in the floor, hit by one of the green shirts trying to catch a lateral pass, she lay there a minute, felt wetness spread from the wound in her lower chest, and tried to assess how bad it was. The green shirt reached down to help her up, gave her a goofy smile, and said, “If you’d been facing the other way, you’d have seen it coming.”

Mariah paled, and Chuck came up and asked if she was okay. “I need to go to Castle,” she said softly.

Before he could answer, Morgan walked up and said, “Mariah, you’re bleeding.” He pointed at her right side.

She moved the sling out of the way, and saw red seeping through the bandages and her shirt. Chuck said, “You need to go to a doctor.”

Mariah handed the work order to Morgan with instructions for the waiting customer, and Chuck hustled her out of the store and across to the Orange Orange. Sarah Walker took one look at them and turned the sign to closed. “I need to call my father,” Mariah said as they went down the stairs.

“You need to have that looked at first,” Walker returned.

Knowing she needed Walker’s cooperation, she let the other woman take her to the sick bay and help her off with the sling. She unknotted her tie and removed her blouse. Walker removed the soaked bandages and shot a startled look at her when she saw the sizable exit wound. “I’ll call the doctor after I talk to my father. For now, let’s just get it cleaned and covered.”

Thankfully, Walker did as she asked and offered to call a doctor to meet them there. Mariah agreed and slipped back into the bloody shirt. Chuck was seated at the table in the main room when they came back. Walker gestured at the equipment. “Could I have some privacy?” Walker’s look was a definite no. “It’s an internal ISI matter.” Walker looked no more convinced. “Fine,” Mariah finally sighed.

When he answered, her father immediately asked what was wrong. Mariah told him she was fine. When he asked why she was calling, she baldly said, “I was facing the wrong way.”

He frowned. “Honey, are you sure you’re okay?”

The skepticism was unmistakable. “Dad, I was facing the building where Faraday was. The entry wound is in my back. I was facing the wrong way.” She ignored the stares from Chuck and Walker and kept her gaze locked on her father’s image. “Either ISI has gotten very sloppy, or no one bothered to do a real investigation here because they thought they knew what happened.”

“Mariah, he had motive.”

“Dad, he had motive and opportunity, but, as I told you, he isn’t stupid, and now I know he didn’t do this—couldn’t have done this unless you’ve developed ammunition that swings around to sneak up behind someone.”

His face was grim. “You’re bleeding. What happened?”

Mariah looked down automatically, irritated by that and his deflection. “Accident on the cover job.” She breathed in and then asked for what she hadn’t before. “I want the recordings of the training exercise.”

“Can’t do that.” She was about to argue when he added, “If you’re right, they will reopen the investigation. You need to tell your story without anyone being able to say you were coached or in any way assisted with your testimony.”

She grimaced. “So, once more, sucks to be me.”

That made her father laugh. “Sucks to be the boss’s daughter.”

Mariah knew her father would have found a way to get them regardless—if he were the one with the seeping wound and certain the official story was wrong. Walker murmured that the doctor was there, and her father said his goodbyes. While Walker went to let the doctor in, Mariah asked for Chuck’s phone; hers was in her bag at the Buy More. He gave her a funny look, but he handed it over.

She knew the number by heart, having been exiled there for years, and Dave’s rumbled, mechanical greeting was oddly comforting. Greetings out of the way, she got right to the point: “Who archives footage of training exercises at the Institute?”

“We do,” Dave answered. “Why?”

“You do specifically, or ISI in general does?” With Dave, it paid to clarify.

“ISI in general does.”

“Which office?” Walker would be back any second, and the doctor would make her hang up to deal with the bleeding.

“Personnel,” he said. “Why?”

“I need to see the footage from my exercise, Dave,” she said. Prevaricating wouldn’t get her anywhere, and Dave tended to sometimes reveal things he shouldn’t.

“You won’t get it,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Everyone’s talking about it, Mariah. That guy who shot you was a top recruit. They had high hopes for him, and the anti-terrorist team is really angry they didn’t get to hire him. Travers got the job instead, and the head of the team told Campbell he’s not going to work out.” Dave sucked in a deep breath. “But that’s not why you won’t get the recordings.”

Mariah made a mental note to find out about Travers, but it was the last sentence that caught her attention. “Really?”

“It’s getting more discussion than the fact you were shot.”

“What is?”

“Hold on a sec,” he said, and she heard a muffled conversation. “Gotta go, Mariah. Your dad’s on his way down.”

That meant her father had figured out she was going to pursue the recordings, and he was going to head Dave off. She wondered how quickly he would get to personnel. “Thanks, Dave.”

While the CIA doctor stitched her up again, she thought it through. She didn’t know who Travers was, which meant he was in one of the other courses at the Institute or had been hired from within ISI. She’d talk to Mona. It was that last, aborted bit of conversation with Dave, though, about which Mariah was inordinately curious. What had happened after she was shot to cause that kind of gossip?

The doctor told her she had pulled the exit wound open. Mariah nearly called him Dr. Obvious, but she realized she would simply be venting her frustration on him. He eyed her over his glasses a moment and asked, “How are you still alive?”

The bullet had made a large hole coming out, and that made it harder to heal. It didn’t help that Mariah was right handed and tended to do things she really shouldn’t, so she kept pulling it open. “Lucky, I guess,” she returned.

Walker went to Large Mart to buy her a clean shirt. As they waited for her return, Chuck eyed Mariah across the table and said, “So you got shot?”

She nodded. Mrs. Gerrard had told her no one was to know what really happened, but she figured all bets were off, so she told Chuck the bare-bones facts about her shooting. “I don’t remember all that much,” she confessed and thought about her hallucinations about John, “but the drugs were pretty good.”

“They usually are,” Walker said, breezing in.

Mariah gave her a little grin. “It’s the part after they quit giving them to you that’s unpleasant.” The doctor she’d just seen had given her more when he finished patching her up, so she wasn’t feeling much pain at the moment.

She knew Chuck would tell Walker, and she knew the other woman was intelligent enough to figure most of it out on her own, so she wasn’t that surprised when Beckman called that night. She was surprised that it was, apparently, only to check on her and ask if she needed to take more time off. Frankly, the General’s call only increased Mariah’s suspicions. There was no real reason for her to remain in Los Angeles, and yet the woman hadn’t released her. Her father had to know she was largely shut out of the Intersect project, so he had no incentive for keeping her there, either. John, ostensibly the reason for her assignment, was gone, apparently permanently. It was maddening, and she was tired of waiting for something to do. She considered how she might force the issue.

In the meantime, Mariah took it easy and kept her eyes open to avoid anything else that might set her recovery back. She worked at the Buy More and rested when she got home. Ellie was frazzled and on a work schedule that meant she only saw Chuck’s sister as they passed on their way to work or home. Mariah was relieved by that since Ellie would otherwise insist on seeing her injuries, and she knew the other woman would recognize a gunshot. She was even more relieved that Kavanaugh was keeping his distance.

While she gutted a desktop’s CPU one afternoon, her phone rang. The number was masked. She almost ignored it, especially since she didn’t give her number out to people she didn’t know. She reached for it, though, since it might have to do with the ongoing investigation into her shooting.

“I thought I’d take the prettiest girl I know to dinner tonight,” she heard Paul Patterson rumble in her ear.

Suddenly, she was smiling, something she couldn’t remember doing in quite some time. “I’m sure she’ll enjoy it,” she told him easily.

His snort carried through the phone’s microphone. “That would be you, Mariah,” he chided. “I’m in town, and I thought since young John’s safely out of the way, I’d ask you to keep me company.”

Under other circumstances, she would have likely said no, but she could use the company as well, and she thought it would be nice to sit with someone who would keep the conversation light. She accepted, and he suggested a nice, quiet little restaurant with which she was familiar. She told him that was fine, and he told her what time he would pick her up.

He wore a suit when she opened the door to him. She had expected his uniform, for some reason, but she had to admit the well-cut dark suit looked good on him. Dinner was enjoyable. Paul set out to be charming, but she had a feeling his sharp gaze caught several things she would rather he didn’t. He told her he was going off to England for a coalition training exercise, and Mariah thought briefly about her own mishap. He seemed to expect her to ask questions, but she didn’t. She had worked in this business long enough to know there were things she couldn’t be told, and she suspected American military maneuvers were one of those things. When they reached the dessert stage, he leaned back and asked her, “Have you heard from John?”

She pushed a bit of her tiramisu around her plate. “Not recently,” she said.

His look was grave when she met his eyes. “Mariah, may I ask you something personal?”

The danger signals were going off in her head. She didn’t answer.

“John’s been like a son to me,” he said. “My wife and I had no children of our own, and because of the respect I have for his father, I watched over John when he first joined the Corps. He’s a good officer, but he still has a lot to learn about how to handle his personal life.”

There was no question there, and Mariah had already figured the last part of that out.

“Do you love him?” he asked her.

She set her fork down carefully and folded her hands in her lap. She stared at the chocolate on the top of what was left of her dessert. She knew the answer, but she was reluctant to tell him. She knew he talked to John, and she didn’t want to say anything Paul might repeat to him. Unfortunately, her thoughts slid to the baby, to the miscarriage, and she felt the tears well. “I don’t think we should talk about John,” she said quietly.

Paul, thankfully, moved on, mentioned he had seen her father briefly when he was in Washington recently. Mariah’s head shot up at that, unaware her father had made the trip. She didn’t ask, though. He asked if she would like a drink, and even though she knew she shouldn’t because of the medication she still took, she agreed. They moved from the restaurant to the attached bar.

They continued to talk. Paul told her about his late wife, and she laughed when he told her funny stories about the other woman. It was clear he had loved her, and Mariah found herself envying the woman. “You know,” he leaned in and said as she studied the bourbon in her glass, “it wasn’t easy being married to me, but she and I made it work.”

Mariah lifted her glass, knew he expected her to say something, but his statement made her think of John, and she wondered if John missed her as she missed him. Her hallucination had said he did, but that had been a comforting image conjured by the drugs. “I’m sure you miss her,” she said quietly.

Paul reached out and covered her hand on the bar. “Mariah, John—“

“Please don’t.” She looked at him then, miserable. “He’s not coming back, Paul.”

The General sat back, his hand still over hers, and gave her a puzzled look. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

She shook her head slowly. “All his things were removed from the apartment shortly after he left. I’ve only heard from him once—well, twice—and he didn’t really have much to say for himself.” Other than he missed her, she amended silently. She had reread that e-mail several times, but she remained convinced her father had told John enough he had felt honor-bound to contact her.

“Mariah, listen to me,” he said urgently. “I saw the way John looks at you.”

She closed her eyes. Why did everyone say that to her?

“He hasn’t looked at a woman in that way in more than twenty years,” he told her when she finally opened her eyes and met his. She thought fleetingly of Ilsa, but Paul continued, “He nearly blew an operation when he thought you were in jeopardy. John has always been about the job, so much so I often worried about him. He put you first, my dear, and that simply isn’t like him.”

“It was a cover,” she blurted.

Paul gave her a gentle smile. “No, Mariah, it isn’t.” He cradled her hand in both of his. “I know it started that way,” and she widened her eyes, wondered who had told him that, “but you and I both know it’s real.”

Mariah stared at him. “He doesn’t love me, Paul,” she told him quietly. “He likes me, he likes sleeping with me, but he doesn’t love me.” He was about to protest, but she stopped him. “I went into this with my eyes open. What you’ve seen is John being possessive. I’m his, and he doesn’t share. I’m flattered you think he cares, but even I know I can’t come first, that the job has to be his first priority.” She grimaced then. “Not that it matters now. He’s gone, reassigned, and if he does come back, I’ll be sent back to Canada.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, and when she nodded, he squeezed her hand. “Will you be offended if I disagree?”

Her smile felt tight, but she said, “No.”

Later, as he escorted her to her door, he asked, “What happened?” She turned to face him, puzzled. “You’ve favored your right side all night.”

“Classified,” she said quietly.

He snorted. “You either got beaten up or were shot. Since I don’t see any bruises, my money’s on the latter.”

She didn’t confirm or deny, and he wore a knowing look when she finally glanced at him. She unlocked the door and invited him in, but he declined. He put his hands on her upper arms and said, “I know you don’t believe me, Mariah, but John loves you. I’d stake my life on it. Promise me you’ll give him a chance.”

_What would it hurt?_ It wasn’t as if she were likely to see John privately again, and if she did, she seriously doubted they would have a heart-to-heart about their sexual relationship. She nodded. Paul leaned in and kissed her cheek before saying good night to her.


	10. Chapter 10

Casey sat on the bar stool and downed another scotch. It was his fourth—fifth?—in a fairly short amount of time. How much time, he really wasn’t sure. He just knew it hadn’t been all that long. The alcohol blunted the ragged edges, but it did nothing to lighten his thoughts. He was angry. Angry at Beckman for having taken him from Burbank. Angry at Riah for not having told him she was pregnant. Angry at her for not having told him she’d lost the baby. Angry at V. H. for not having told him what happened to Riah. Angry at Faraday for having shot and nearly killed her. Angry at himself for not having made sure she knew he had to leave. Angry at himself for not having found a way to follow up, for not having a real conversation with her so that she could tell him she was pregnant. Angry at himself for not protecting her.

He lifted a finger at the bartender, and his empty glass disappeared, replaced by another drink. He nursed this one, aware the bartender was considering whether or not to continue serving him. He had chosen this bar—sorry, pub (damn Brits ought to speak English)—because it was a little more upscale and considerably more quiet than what his men would choose, and he really wasn’t in the mood for either company or talk. He heard a sexy, throaty, female voice next to him and glanced over his shoulder at a stunning woman who took the stool to his left. After she ordered, she met his eyes.

She was just his type—tall, curvy, brunette, beautiful. She smiled at him, and he found himself smiling back. The bartender sat a cosmopolitan in front of her, and Casey nearly sneered at the girly drink until he remembered she was a girl—woman. She gave him a lazy smile, one that was pure invitation. He watched her pick up her drink, and her green eyes fixed on him over the rim of the glass.

Casey turned toward her, and when she sat her drink down, she said, “Nice uniform.”

He nearly looked down to see, but then he remembered. He was Major John Casey, United States Marine Corps, again, not John Casey, NSA agent posing as mild-mannered appliance salesman. “Nice dress.” Almost dress would have been a better description given how little of it there was.

“Are you here alone?” she asked.

He grunted. He was just enough this side of sober to exercise a little caution. It wouldn’t be the first time someone sent a pretty woman to distract a serviceman before rolling him—or worse. He often attracted the worse, it seemed.

She leaned toward him, and he got an easy look down her cleavage. It was very nice cleavage, indeed. More than what Riah had, and from the shape and hang of her, probably real—maybe. “So what’s a handsome man like you doing here all alone?” she purred, and her hand landed on his thigh.

There were all kinds of ways he could answer that question, and all of them fought to get out. It had been a long time since someone had called him handsome. It had been a long time since that morning when Riah had ridden him to sexual nirvana and then left him for work. That wasn’t fair, a part of his brain reminded him, but he was far enough gone that he didn’t care. When the woman next to him moved her hand slowly up his thigh, he cared even less. “Getting a drink,” he said, which didn’t really answer the question, but he felt certain it was a good answer. He lifted his scotch and took a stiff swallow.

Her hand trailed back down his thigh and up once more, higher this time, more on the inside. She took her hand from his leg, and he nearly groaned. She lifted his left hand and looked at it. “No ring. You’re single?”

Casey looked at his bare finger, watched her index finger trace over where a wedding ring would be if he were married. His body begged him to say yes, but what came out of his mouth was, “No.” He started to change that, but he had a moment of clarity where he knew he had given the right answer.

If she had been there, he suspected Riah would have cut the woman’s hand off, and the idea made him smile.

Her green eyes widened. He suspected their color had more to do with contact lenses than nature. “Married?” He shook his head, and she smiled broadly at him. Her hand was warm where it held his, and her skin was soft. Casey had missed the softness of a woman’s hand. Actually, he had missed the feel of Riah’s hands. “Girlfriend?” He nodded. She made a show of looking around. “Where is she?”

“California,” he said, and her smile turned seductive.

“You’re a long way from home, then aren’t you?” She leaned toward him, and he got another good look at her chest down her miniscule dress. He said nothing, lifted his glass and swallowed more scotch. He was willing to bet there wasn’t a stitch of underwear beneath that dress. He was flooded by memories of Riah in his lap late at night on her stepfather’s stoop in Chicago, of the tiny, pornographic excuses for underwear she often wore when she did wear it.

“You must be so lonely,” she crooned softly as she gave him a practiced looked.

He was lonely, and while he was tempted by what she was offering, he suddenly realized he wasn’t interested in sex with a stranger. Following quickly on the heels of that thought came a vision of Riah—not as he’d last seen her in the hospital but that image of her that had kept him company all the months he had been gone, the one of her naked in his arms, the silky tangle of her hair on his pillow and those heated blue eyes of hers burning for him. He acknowledged what he really hadn’t before: not only did he miss Riah, but he wanted her, not some other woman, no matter how attractive the woman was. And the woman next to him was very attractive, indeed.

He agreed he was lonely, and the woman leaned even closer, her hand back on his thigh. He grasped her wrist and moved her hand to the bar. “I don’t cheat,” he said gruffly.

“There’s no reason she ever needs to know,” she said in that low, seductive voice.

“I’ll know,” he said, and he gave her a level stare. God, he must be insane, he thought. All he had to do was crook a finger, and she would go with him. “I love her, and I have no intention of betraying her.”

_Where had that come from?_

He cared about Riah. He was attracted to her, enjoyed sex with her, craved sex with her, even now, but he’d never thought of how he felt about her as love. And yet it was exactly the right word to describe this feeling he had for her. He loved her. He tried that out: He loved her. He lifted the remnants of his scotch and felt a silly grin slide his mouth up. He loved Mariah Adderly.

Who would have thought? He didn’t go for dark blonde, short and kind of crazy, but God help him, she had wormed her way into his very soul. She was steady, loyal, and intelligent. She had a strength of character he admired, and even if she came unglued when faced with the darker parts of her past, she always seemed to fight her way back. She could hold her own in the trickiest of situations, and she kept him more than interested in bed. He finished his drink. He had to tell her, he thought, and he squinted at his watch and tried to do the calculations. He suddenly couldn’t remember how many hours difference there were between here and Los Angeles. Ten? Eleven? Twelve? What if she was at work? Was it daylight saving time? Did that make a difference?

His thoughts crashed to a stop. The brunette’s hand was back on him, but this time, that wasn’t his thigh she was feeling up. “You know you want to,” she said huskily near his ear.

Casey grabbed her wrist and shoved her hand away. “But I’m not going to,” he said harshly.

“Major,” he heard, and he knew that voice. He closed his eyes. Of all the people to catch him with a woman’s hand in his crotch, General Paul Patterson was one of the last people he would want to do so.

“Sir,” he said, and stood, unsteadily. Paul Patterson was in uniform as well.

General Patterson gave the brunette a hard look. “I believe you were moving on,” he said to her, and she took one look at his stern, craggy face and picked up her drink and did just that. Casey wished he could leave as well, though not necessarily with the woman. He remembered an incident early in his career which had involved a woman he hadn’t realized was married, and the General, then a lieutenant colonel, had nearly thrown him out of the Corps. Patterson had been about to wash his hands of then-Lieutenant Casey, but he had given him another chance. This, though not at all the same thing, reminded Casey nonetheless how close he’d come to ending his career all those years ago.

When the woman was gone, Patterson took her seat. He told the bartender he’d have what Casey was having. The bartender kindly set another glass in front of Casey when he served the General. As Patterson lifted his glass, he slid a sideways look at Casey. “You know, John, I like that pretty little girl of yours,” he said and sipped his whisky. Casey recognized a warning when he heard one. “I’m glad to see that even three sheets to the wind and far from home you still have sense enough to keep it in your pants.”

Casey didn’t know why that chafed so much, perhaps because he knew damned well Paul Patterson more than liked his “pretty little girl.” Perhaps it was because Paul wasn’t his father, or perhaps it was because Casey knew how close he’d just been to not keeping it in his pants. He said nothing, though, just stared at the bottles behind the bar.

Paul lifted his whisky again. “When I met your girl,” he said quietly, “she didn’t strike me as the type to cling. In fact, she reminded me of my late wife. Caroline was a military brat, and she knew what she was getting when she married me.” He sighed. “Despite that, she wasn’t always happy about what the job required. We often fought about that. She understood, though, that when she married me, all those things she didn’t like were part of the life she had taken on.”

Casey leaned forward, rested his forearms on the bar, and twisted his glass with the thumb and middle finger of his right hand. “Riah’s not like that. She knows the job.”

“Well, John, there’s understanding, and then there’s understanding.”

He turned to squint at Paul’s profile. _What the hell did that mean?_

“Your Mariah seems to understand a whole hell of a lot more than you do, son.” Casey was confused. As far as he knew, Paul had only met Riah the once—well, twice—and the other man seemed to know what he was thinking. “I had dinner with her just before I came over—about three weeks ago.” He lifted his glass. “Lovely girl.”

Paul Patterson had had dinner with Riah. Casey had an irrational desire to punch the man. In part it was envy that he had spent time with her while Casey was coming off a grueling search of the mountains on the Afghan-Pakistan border. He longed to ask how she was, whether she was completely recovered or still struggling. Most importantly, he wondered if she had been home in Los Angeles or somewhere in Canada. He liked to think of her at home, waiting for him. If she was in Canada, his was a lost cause.

“She was favoring her right side,” Paul said conversationally. “She’d obviously been injured, but she didn’t say how. It seemed serious. Broken ribs, maybe.”

Casey knew he was fishing for information, but that thought didn’t catch up with him until he’d already said, “She was shot.”

“So you’ve seen her?”

He nodded slowly and stared into the scotch in his glass. “I was there.” His hand shook, so he sat the glass back down. He hadn’t had many nightmares about what he did for a living. He rested relatively easily about that. When he did have nightmares, they were about the things that did trouble him—Kathleen, Ilsa, losing good men in battle, watching innocent civilians get slaughtered—but what happened on that ISI training mission had him waking in a cold sweat more often than he liked to admit. The dreams lacerated him. He dreamed she died, bled out before he could get to her. He dreamed she died in his arms. He dreamed that the medics hadn’t been able to help her. He dreamed the surgeons couldn’t save her.

And then there were the more insidious dreams, the ones where he saw her pregnant, the ones where he held their child, the ones where she was home waiting for him, heavy with child. Those were the most painful of all, and he had a moment when he thought he might cry like a little girl in the middle of an English pub and, worse, in front of the man to whom he owed his life.

“John,” Paul said softly. “We all make choices, sacrifices for what we do. We do it because somewhere inside us we recognize that the few frequently sacrifice so the many can live the kind of life we believe in.”

Casey nodded. That was why, he told himself, he did what he did. It was what kept him going when the American citizens he had sworn to protect acted like he was a criminal or that what he did, what he was, was somehow wrong. It kept him going when he realized his countrymen didn’t care what he did or why but were unwilling to sacrifice themselves. It kept him from dwelling too much on all he had personally given up, turned his back on, to do his duty.

“I’m not sure you fully understand the choices you’ve made,” Paul continued. He turned toward Casey. “I’ve watched you over the years—at least the years since you finally got your head out of your ass and decided to grow up—and one of the things that has always concerned me is your blind allegiance to duty.” The General let that sink in a moment before he added, “It is possible to do one’s duty and have a rewarding personal life.”

“Riah put you up to this?” Casey hadn’t intended that to come out as crankily as it did.

“No, John, but your girl is pretty sharp. It didn’t take her long to figure out what it took me years to realize.”

Casey waited for him to finish that, but he, apparently, waited in vain. He swallowed some of his scotch, but Paul still sat silently staring ahead. “Well?” Casey finally grunted.

Apparently the other man had been caught up in his thoughts. “Mariah gets who you are, John, and she doesn’t want to change that. You’re a very lucky man. As you said, she understands the job, but she’s also willing to give you the room you need to do that job.” He picked up his own glass. “I’m not sure many women would be that flexible.”

“Her mother sure as hell wasn’t,” Casey said before he could stop himself.

Paul swallowed some scotch and nodded. “Ariel wasn’t entirely to blame there, John. V. H. isn’t perfect, and if he’d been in the position you were a few minutes ago, he would have taken the offer before him. Still, Ariel wasn’t willing to share, and I don’t think your pretty little girl is, either.”

“Is that supposed to be some kind of warning?” Casey demanded, but he remembered what she had said to him that long-ago afternoon in Castle.

“No,” Paul said calmly after a moment of contemplation. “No, it’s a statement of fact. That little girl is head over heels in love with you, John, and if you’re too stupid to see it, then you’re not the man I always thought you were.”

Casey felt his hands fist. Then he realized what Paul had said: Riah loved him.

He knew that, he reminded himself. She had told him as he held her and tried to staunch her blood. It did him no good, though. She was wherever she was, and he was here, in a British pub on leave from a thankless job that seemed more and more impossible. He briefly wondered if he had called her and told her he was going to spend two weeks with his team in England training with the Brits and other coalition teams if she would have come over to see him. He wondered if Beckman would have let her. Then he was right back to wondering if she had even returned to Los Angeles or if her father had kept her home in Canada.

Paul signaled for another drink. As the General waited, he said, “It doesn’t have to be an either/or proposition, John. I know you were pushed into that kind of decision once before, but you can have Mariah and your career, too. I suspect it would be easier with her than any other woman you might choose. My wife, a lot of soldiers’ wives, for that matter, resent what we do because it takes us away from them, uproots them again and again. Caroline loved me, though, was proud of what I did, but deep down, she didn’t understand how my duty to country could take precedence sometimes. That’s the way it had to be, she knew it, and because of that, I made sure that she came first as often as I could make that happen. Your girl thinks she always has to come last, and that simply isn’t so. She’s never going to try and stop you doing what you have to, but maybe you should think about whether or not there are times when you should put her first. It may be country, God and family, John, but sometimes family should come first.”

There was another epiphany as Paul finished. That was how Bartowski saw the world. Family and friends came first with Chuck, and it was part of what made him both maddening and admirable. He put others first as a matter of course, but when push came to shove, it was his loved ones who won over duty. For Casey, it had always been the other way around. Family, friends, even, came after duty. He also heard an echo of one of the things Riah had said in the hospital while she’d been so heavily drugged she’d thought he was an hallucination: that the job always came first. It had been bitterly said, and Casey had wondered about that bitterness.

“She can’t always come first,” he said softly.

Patterson stared thoughtfully at him when Casey looked up, the silence having stretched for what seemed many minutes. “Let me ask you something, John,” Patterson said. “Do you love her?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Have you told her that?”

Casey shook his head. He wasn’t going to tell his old friend and mentor that he had only put that word on what he felt a few moments before the General appeared.

Patterson picked up his glass. “You really should.” He sipped his scotch. “And you should really try putting her first for a change. Your pretty little girl has had a lifetime of coming last—with her father, with her mother, with almost anyone who professes to care about her. If you really love her, make sure she comes first at least some of the time.”

 

Casey woke the next morning with one hell of a hangover. It had been a long time since he’d been in such a state, and it didn’t help that Paul Patterson came and personally woke him up. Before the morning was over, he was pretty sure the General was determined to make things as painful as possible for him. Penance, he mused.

Late in the day, Casey considered calling Riah, but he still didn’t know where she was. To be honest, he was afraid to call her. What he had to say to her was probably best said in person. He wanted to see her face when he told her he loved her. Then again, if she were to reject him, it might be best to have some distance. Before he could make up his mind, he had orders from Beckman. He was leaving his men once more to do a job for her in Antwerp, so he pushed Riah to the back once more as he was briefed.

 

\------- X -------

 

It was nearly the American Thanksgiving when Mariah received the call from an ISI official. After having re-opened the inquiry, Faraday was cleared in her shooting. Not surprisingly, her next call was from her father, who told her the same thing. He went on to warn her that whoever had done it was still at large, so she needed to exercise caution. He also told her that two of the ISI Institute’s instructors had been let go in the wake of the broader investigation. “Are you about to tell me I’m not welcome in Canada any longer?” she teased and then wished she hadn’t when there was a long pause.

“I think it might be best if you stayed away,” he admitted, “at least for a while.”

Four days later, she saw Mick Faraday stroll into the Buy More just as she was preparing to leave. He saw her and walked over to her. “Mariah,” he said, and she was relieved to not hear any hostility in his voice.

“Mick,” she said, but there was an edge of suspicion in her voice.

“New boyfriend?” Lester asked, and Mariah wondered where he had appeared from.

Since he hadn’t called her Adderly as he usually did, she hoped Faraday would play along. “This is my cousin Mick,” she said easily, and Faraday reached out a hand. “He’s here for the holiday.”

“Would that be a second cousin?” Jeff asked, materializing beside his partner. “Because that makes him legal.”

Mariah closed her eyes a moment and breathed. Chuck had appeared when she opened her eyes, and when she introduced Faraday as her cousin, she saw the flash face start. Chuck gave Mariah a panicked look, and she wondered what had been in the Intersect on the other man. Jeff had engaged Faraday, so Chuck pulled her a few steps away.

“Okay, he isn’t my cousin,” she said softly. “Unless you’re about to tell me he’s Fulcrum, let’s just say I’m more familiar with his service record than I ought to be.”

“He’s the Canadian Casey,” Chuck said.

Mariah laughed. She hadn’t thought about it that way, but there was a certain truth in that—as far as the service records went. “It’s okay, Chuck,” she reassured him, though she did admit, “but he doesn’t much like me.”

“So ISI has a job on?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” she told him, and he relaxed. For some perverse reason, she added, “But he was just acquitted of shooting me.”

For a second she thought Chuck might actually faint, he went so pale. “You’re joking, right?”

“Nope,” she said and then turned to rescue Faraday. “Come on, Mick, you promised me dinner.” She took Faraday’s arm, and he let her pull him out of the store. She dropped his arm once they were outside

“I suppose I do owe you dinner,” he said reluctantly.

Mariah eyed him. “Since neither of us much likes the other, how about we make it a drink?”

They went to a bar not far away. Mariah had been there a time or two, and she was pretty certain no one from the Buy More would follow them. They took a seat at a table in the back, and both of them sat where they could see the other patrons. She ordered bourbon, he ordered a beer, and then they sat and looked at each other. Neither spoke until their drinks were set before them and the cocktail waitress had moved away. Faraday looked around. It was the kind of dive her father used to love, working-class stiffs, no fancy booze behind the bar, no microbrewed beers on the menu, and the wine list had a choice of white or red, vintage unknown. The food probably contained so much fat it would clog their arteries just to look at it. She eyed Faraday’s expensive suit, wondered if it was his or if it had been issued for whatever his mission was.

“I really do owe you a drink,” Faraday said at last, lifted the beer bottle for a long swallow. “Your father and everyone else were willing to leave me to rot, but he tells me you argued that I couldn’t have done it.”

“Don’t expect me to be happy about saving your ass.”

He stared at her, and she stared back. She was never going to like him, she knew, and she supposed she ought to be glad she was unlikely to ever have to work with him. “You could have taken your revenge and not said anything.”

“Not how I operate.” She had been tempted to let it go, but she had a strong sense of justice, and that had kept her prodding them to reexamine the facts. “I take it you’re headed off on assignment?”

He eyed her a moment. “Indonesia.”

Mariah nodded. “Anti-terrorist team?” Faraday grinned but said nothing. His expression said it for him. “Congratulations,” she told him sincerely.

“You didn’t want it?”

She could tell he was surprised by that. “Didn’t matter if I did,” she said. “I was never going to get that slot.”

“Parker said you ended sixth in the class.”

“Two fatal errors during the training exercise.” She shrugged. “I got a rather interesting reprimand with the notes from whomever they had evaluate the exercise.” She had, too. It came from the exercise supervisor, but there had been three paragraphs that were obviously quoted from the evaluator’s report.

“You’re kidding, right?”

Mariah could tell he didn’t believe her, but she wasn’t sure which part he found incredulous. “I can show you the documents,” she offered.

He took a long pull on his beer. “Adderly, I’d like to tell you why I didn’t come down when you gave the order.”

Sitting back, she crossed her legs and then crossed her arms over her chest. She didn’t much care, and she wasn’t interested in hearing he was being a jackass. He surprised her, though.

“I watched Parker and Sontag go to the roof after you told them to go around back. I saw a strange glint across the roof from where they took up position, and when I looked through the scope, there was a guy in gear with a rifle and scope.” Mariah uncrossed her arms and frowned. “He sat there, out of sight from Parker and Sontag, didn’t move, didn’t say anything. When the exercise was over, though, he started creeping toward the front of the building after they went back to ground level. I stayed to see what he was going to do.” Faraday took another pull of his beer. “I listened while you chewed everyone out, and I watched him take aim. I couldn’t figure out which one of you he was after, but after the others left and you stayed, I figured out he was aiming at you. “

Mariah had what seemed like a dozen questions bouncing around her brain, but she wasn’t certain she could get a one of them out.

“I wondered for a few minutes if the sadistic bastards at the Institute were running a secondary game,” he said, “but then I saw there was no band on his magazine.” Mariah felt herself pale. They knew they were using the simulated ammunition because the clips and magazines had green bands on the ones containing the simunition. “I had a magazine of live ammo with me, and I switched it for the blanks. You took your vest off, and he shot you. I tried to get a good shot, but he was fast, faster than anyone I’ve ever seen, and he was out of the line of fire before I could get a clear second shot.”

She studied him. “Why didn’t you tell someone?” she asked.

He sighed, turned the bottle between his two hands on the table. “It was clear they were certain I had done it, and I knew they wouldn’t listen because you’re the director general’s daughter. I’d been a real dick, so I suppose that was understandable. I figured I’d wait for them to see that the bullet didn’t match my gun, thought they would be willing to hear me then.” He grimaced. “I never dreamed they wouldn’t find the bullet.”

“I’m sorry,” she said automatically, though she supposed she was. Somewhere. Somewhere really deep inside her because she was usually a good person.

Faraday shrugged again. “I also heard what happened to Parker, and I really didn’t want that big son of a bitch coming after me.”

Totally confused now, Mariah tried to untangle that. “What happened to Parker?”

“That Yank bastard who did the evaluation shot him—four times.”

She choked on her bourbon. Faraday reached across and thumped her on the back. “He’s dead?” she asked in a strangled tone. For some reason, John’s face swam in her head.

“No,” Faraday mused. “Hannah Ernst said he used some sort of tranquilizer darts.”

John had been an hallucination. He had not been there, but she felt the blood drain out of her head. Big. American. Tranqs. She closed her eyes tightly, forced herself to let it go, to not ask.

“Everyone on the ground heard him, Adderly,” he said quietly, “you, too.” When she just stared at him, he continued. “Your mike was still live. The Yank was the first one to you. He begged you to stay with him. You told him you loved him.”

She stifled the shiver. “I was losing consciousness and hallucinating,” she said. Now she knew what Dave had been about to tell her, what all the talk he mentioned was about. It couldn’t have been John, she reminded herself. It couldn’t have been. He was God only knew where, and her father would have surely told her if John had been there. Probably, he would have told her. Maybe he would have told her. Surely her mother would have said something, even if it had only been to tell her what a bastard John was.

She was going into shock, she thought, dazed.

Faraday looked relieved. “I figured it was something like that, though I have to admit there have been some interesting rumors about you and an American.” He finished his beer. “Then again, they mostly started with Gray Laurance, so I doubt they held much truth.”

Mariah didn’t know what to say, so she finished her drink. Let him think it was nonsense, she told herself, because it was easier than explaining. They didn’t like each other, they would probably never like each other, but she had let him thank her for doing what was right. She didn’t want to give him any information he could use against her when they were finished making nice with one another. She had no illusions that their apparent truce would last.

Faraday signaled the waitress, paid the bill, and then, when they stood in the parking lot, he told her, “Good luck, Adderly.”

“You, too,” she said and shook the hand he extended to her before he walked away.

She went home and collapsed on her couch, hugged her legs to her chest and stared blankly at the wall opposite her. She could remember hearing John’s voice, but she had been sure she imagined that. She knew she told her mother she had imagined him, and her mother hadn’t corrected her. The investigation panel had asked her how well she knew the evaluator, but they hadn’t told her who it was when she admitted not knowing.

Beckman would never have let John leave his unit to evaluate a training exercise in Canada. _Never._ It had to be some other big American with a tranq gun— _had to be_. She told herself that again and again to beat back the hysteria. If she thought, even for a moment, it had been John, that he had really been there, then the other temptations would come back—the temptation to call him, the temptation to answer that e-mail he had sent her months ago, the temptation to demand Beckman tell her where he was.

 

Thanksgiving was a quiet holiday. Her mother and Emma came to spend it with her, and Mariah was glad to not have to celebrate it with Chuck and Ellie. She took comfort in having members of her family with her, in being at her mother’s Malibu house, and from not having to have Ellie commiserate with her over John’s absence. She suspected Kavanaugh would also be present at the Bartowskis’, so she was glad to have a reason to decline the invitation. As it was, she was tired, and if her mother or sister thought she was unusually quiet, neither said anything. She listened to her mother talk about agreeing to do a USO show in a week or so, and Emma talked about school. When Mariah’s mother asked if she would be going home for Christmas, Mariah shook her head. Beckman had already told her she would have Chuck duty then.

She existed over the next several weeks, but that was it. She did the cover job, she went Christmas shopping with Ellie, and went through the motions of monitoring Chuck.

She absolutely, positively, did not wish for what she could not have. She absolutely did not dwell on might-have-been or could-have-been. She absolutely did not lie awake at night in the bed she used to share with John and remember all the nights she had spent in that bed with him. She absolutely did not replay that last training exercise in her head, did not take it apart second by second trying to get any hint that John had actually been there. That would be madness, and Mariah was not mad. Not mad at all.


	11. Chapter 11

Casey would have bet money he’d never find himself in this position. But here he was. He was pretty sure this was Adderly’s way of getting back at him for Riah. Then again, Beckman could be simply punishing him for not getting the distance between him and Riah she had ordered. Regardless, six days in Ariel Taylor’s company was surely enough to guarantee he would be able to skip purgatory when the time came.

Of course, he probably had his own reserved seat in Hell and most likely would not die in a state of grace, which made purgatory not an option.

To be fair, though, he had to admire Ariel for what she was doing. Not many celebrities were willing to visit soldiers in Iraq or Afghanistan, but here she was on her way to Baghdad for the USO. Even her band had balked. According to V. H., that was primarily because Ariel had been a target before, and they didn’t want to fly into a war zone with a woman who drew trouble the way Ariel did. As a result, she had made arrangements to be backed by musicians from the various armed forces bands. Casey was part of her protection detail. That he had another assignment while he was there was not known by any of his companions.

He still didn’t like Ariel Taylor, but he would give her the benefit of the doubt this time, if not for what she was doing then at least for Riah’s sake. He stared at the woman across from him, and he had to admit she didn’t look like the diva he was used to. For one thing, she was dressed in a simple white oxford shirt with a flak jacket over it and jeans and hiking boots instead of designer clothes. She had no makeup on, and her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail underneath the helmet she wore. She was three years older than he was, but she didn’t look it. She could almost pass for Riah’s sister rather than her mother. The only clues that she had just turned fifty were the few strands of silver in her hair and a few faint lines on her face.

She also seemed to be on her best behavior. She didn’t make demands, said please and thank you, didn’t brush off any of the soldiers who approached her on the base from which they had left the States or the one in Germany where they had stopped and taken on other troops. She hadn’t complained about travelling by military transport, either. This woman was far more like her daughter than the woman he was used to, and he could almost like her.

After three days, he really did like this Ariel Taylor. Maybe he was unduly influenced by her obvious concern for her daughter when Riah had been shot, or maybe it was the way she had given him time with Riah while they had waited for her to recover. Whatever it was, he appreciated that Ariel hadn’t tried to ditch him or the others assigned to protect her, behavior for which she was notorious and which made drawing an assignment on her security detail a painful and sometimes career-ending experience. Mostly, it was a job given to agents whose supervisors thought they needed either punishment or humbling. This time, though, she did everything she was told to do when she was told to do it, but most of all, she mixed with the troops and seemed to take a genuine interest in them. She posed for what seemed an endless series of photographs, signed who knew how many autographs, and laughed when one of the sergeants stole a kiss. The Ariel Taylor Casey was used to made demands, refused to acknowledge anyone she didn’t think worth cultivating, and would never have put up with that sergeant kissing her.

During her rehearsals and shows, she was easy with the musicians, some of whom were more than a little star struck. She was complimentary about their skills, polite when she needed them do something differently. Casey began to wonder if she’d undergone a personality transplant. He wondered even more as he looked at her while they rode through the city in an armored vehicle back to where she was quartered. She shot him a look, and he saw amusement curve her lips. “Not what you expected, am I, Major?”

Casey snorted and looked away. No, she certainly wasn’t. The last time he’d had to do this particular detail, she had tried to ditch him at every turn, verbally abused him, and been, basically, the Queen Bitch from Hell. When he thought about it, though, her attitude change had started when Riah was in the hospital in Ottawa a few months earlier. That had been the first time he’d been in her company without her sniping at him—and him sniping back. He didn’t count Chicago where they had, essentially, exchanged words even though there had been no outright warfare.

When they left Iraq, he had orders to follow her to London, see that she got safely home. The real reason was that he was to check in with an agent there and hand off part of the information he had gotten from an old contact while Ariel played her last show. He would deliver the more sensitive material in person to General Beckman when he returned to the States. They moved to Ariel’s private jet in Germany, and he stretched out and went to sleep during the flight. She could take that how she wished.

They deplaned, and he handed his bag to her driver. Casey was looking forward to a real shower, maybe a soak in the tub, civilian clothes, good scotch, and a fine steak dinner. He also looked forward to about ten hours of sleep before he returned to the States.

As the driver took them through traffic, Ariel said, “Thank you, Casey.”

He shot her a surprised look, one brow arched. That was also out of character for Ariel. She didn’t usually thank people. “Just doing my job.”

She gave him a wry smile. “Not exactly. I’m well aware this isn’t your usual gig. I believe this is usually your punishment.” It was her turn to arch a brow. He said nothing. “What was your transgression this time?”

He grunted. “Don’t make assumptions. You were a means to an end.” That was more than he should have said. She had been the partner of a spy, but no matter how hard people had pried, she had never betrayed Adderly. He hoped that idea of protection would carry over to him since she seemed to like him better than she had in the past.

She nodded. “It isn’t the first time,” she said softly. “Listen, let me feed you tonight. It’s the least I can do.”

A trap yawned before him, but he couldn’t quite figure out exactly what it might be. She’d been easy to get along with this time, and she was a partner in one of the best restaurants in London. Why not? He decided. Maybe she really did want to thank him and not, as he feared, grill him about Riah or harangue him over her daughter. “Alright,” he said cautiously.

The car glided to a stop at his hotel, and she said, “Nigel here will pick you up. Seven alright?”

He agreed, and Nigel got out to get his bag for him.

Casey sat in the tub later with a glass of single malt. He had dropped his luggage in his room, changed, made his other drop and returned to the hotel to relax. He should have told Ariel he’d find his own way there, he realized. Then he’d know what to expect. He still wasn’t certain she didn’t intend to ambush him over Riah, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

He had a suit with him. When he got out of the tub, he put it on without the tie before going downstairs to meet Nigel. Casey didn’t want to sit in the back, and Nigel didn’t bat an eye when he took the front passenger seat. It was quickly clear they were headed to a residential area, which Nigel confirmed when he asked. Apparently, Ariel was bringing him to her home. Casey didn’t like that one bit, but it was a little too late to complain.

After what she’d done for the troops, he supposed he could take whatever she had to say about how she felt he’d treated her daughter. He was certain she intended to dress him down for Riah, or she would have taken him somewhere public. As he followed Nigel inside, he braced himself, and then he heard Ariel call, “In here.” Nigel pointed the way before retreating. She was in the kitchen, cooking. Casey stood in the doorway, surprised. “Probably thought I couldn’t boil water,” she said with a laugh. “Kitchen liquor cabinet is there,” she said, pointing at a sideboard with her wooden spoon. “Dinner will be ready in about half an hour. Help yourself.”

He poured a healthy measure of single malt, pleased to see she apparently still drank the same thing he did. He asked if she wanted something, but she shook her head, picked up a glass of red wine. Ariel told him to join her, so he slid onto one of the barstools on the other side of the counter from where she worked.

“What’s for dinner?” Casey asked, more to break the silence than anything.

“Beef bourguignon,” she said. “Noodles or rice?” He blinked at her a moment, not entirely sure what she asked. “Mariah prefers rice, but Emma always liked noodles better. Well, Emma did when she still ate meat.”

Casey told her he didn’t care, watched her measure water and put rice on to cook. The smell of the bourguignon was incredible, and his mouth watered. It was easy to see where Riah got her love of cooking. He sipped his scotch and desperately hoped they wouldn’t spend the night talking about Ariel’s oldest daughter.

Ariel seemed to know what he was thinking, for she gave him a smile that was damned close to a smirk. She prepped what looked like fresh green beans, though where she found them in December he couldn’t imagine, and said, “I love both my daughters. I’ve not been the best mother in the world, but if you think I’m going to pretend Mariah doesn’t exist to spare your delicate feelings, you’ve got another think coming.”

He made his fingers relax where he gripped his glass. He told himself not to say anything, not to do anything that might encourage her to start in. She took pity on him and began regaling him with a story about the very first USO show she had done while Casey began to relax again.

She asked him to set the table for her and gestured for him to go to the kitchen table where the plates and cutlery rested, explained to him that the dining room seated eighteen, and she’d rather be in the kitchen. He helped her carry the food to the table, and she asked if he’d like a glass of wine or something else with his dinner. He agreed to the wine, so Ariel retrieved a glass for him and poured some of the burgundy she’d used to cook with. He could hear Riah in his head, could hear what she had said to him after he had been startled by her cooking with a fine wine: _If it isn’t worth drinking, it isn’t worth cooking with_. Clearly her mother thought the same.

At first their conversation was about the food, which Casey had to acknowledge was exceptionally good. He wondered how many people knew she could cook. She once more seemed to know what he was thinking, for she told him about her Sunday dinners. He remembered, as she explained, Riah telling him this about her mother. When she was in London, Ariel told him, she cooked on Sundays for a carefully selected group of friends. She had always loved cooking, and she’d been quite pleased when Mariah had fallen in love with it as well. For a moment, her face clouded over, and she said, “I had hoped her love of cooking would keep her from following in her father’s footsteps, but . . . .” She shrugged as her voice trailed off. “She would have been so much better off,” she added, seemingly as an afterthought.

He was suddenly not hungry any more. Casey put down his fork and picked up his glass, drained the wine left in it. He agreed with her whole-heartedly. Riah’s career had nearly killed her more than once. She would have been better off, and she would never have met him. As Ariel refilled his glass, he wondered if he would have been better off.

Ariel sat back and studied him. “This, by the way, is the part where we’re going to talk about Mariah.”

Casey shot a glare at her.

“You can look at me like that all you want, Major, but we are going to have this discussion.” She was clearly determined, and he knew she was more than capable of facing him down. “As I said earlier, I love my daughter. Like any mother, I want what’s best for her, and I can’t say I’m very happy about how you’ve treated her.”

He set his jaw and refused to respond.

Ariel smiled at him, but it was not a nice smile. “Ah. The strong silent type. I suppose you figure that if you sit there and say nothing, I’ll give up and send you on your way.” She took a sip of her wine. “You’re sadly mistaken, Casey.” She pushed her plate aside and leaned forward, folded her arms on the table before her. “I’m not her father, and you and I have never been friends, Major. I don’t intend to pull punches here, so if you choose not to defend yourself, that’s alright by me.” Her brow shot up, and he received her message loud and clear.

“I think I can take it,” Casey grunted.

“Ironically, Major, I hope so,” she said. She began calmly, telling him honestly what she thought of his behavior. She began with her hopes that Mariah would settle down with Gray Laurance, but, she admitted, she had been wrong about the other man and felt she owed Casey for getting Gray to show his true colors—though she wasn’t happy about how, as she put it, he had used Mariah to do it. She moved on to his trip to Chicago on Riah’s birthday. “That one, I can’t quite figure out,” Ariel said. “Perhaps you can explain to me why, when it wasn’t necessary for your cover— ” He started to protest, but she held up a pre-emptive hand, palm-forward, and explained, “V. H. told me—you actually came to Chicago, took her to dinner, and bought her something she loves for a present?”

He thought about not answering her. Then he thought about giving her an answer that would insult her, something along the lines of wanting Riah to have a nice birthday for a change, but he settled for the truth: “Because I wanted to.”

Ariel sat back and studied him solemnly. “That begs the question of why.”

Casey looked away, studied their reflections in the dark window. “I like Riah,” he said at last. “I wanted to make her happy.”

“So becoming her lover and then vanishing without a single word was supposed to do what, exactly?” There was a sharp edge to her voice, and when he looked at her, her face was set in angry lines. He remained silent. He had no answer for that, and if he was going to have to defend his actions, Ariel Taylor wasn’t the one to whom he needed to do so. When she realized he wouldn’t answer, she added, “Not to mention leaving her pregnant.”

“I didn’t know, and you know that,” Casey snapped out before he could think better of it. Ariel raised a brow, sat back in her chair, and crossed her arms over her chest. It was true, and he knew damned well Emma had told her so when Riah was shot in Ottawa a few months back. Still, he felt the color run up his face. “Not until it was too late,” he amended tightly.

“Fair enough,” she said grudgingly. “I confess, and I’ve had my rounds of guilt for it, I felt a little bit of relief when she miscarried. She was a complete mess when she found out she was pregnant, worse when she miscarried, and I’ve wondered if that contributed to the disaster when she went back to Canada for mandatory training.” She sighed. “I suppose I owe you her life as well. V. H. says that if you hadn’t gotten to her as quickly as you did, she would have likely bled out.”

He went pale thinking of that day she’d been shot by a member of her own team during a training mission. He still woke in a cold sweat from nightmares where she was dead by the time he got to her, nightmares where she died in his arms. Casey could still hear her faint, breathy voice as he’d held her, tried to staunch her wounds, and pled with her to hold on, to stay with him: _Miss . . . you . . . . Love . . . you_. He closed his eyes and sucked in an unsteady breath.

“She thinks she hallucinated you,” Ariel said in a soft, quiet voice, splashing more wine in his glass. “She thinks you weren’t really there, that she somehow imagined you were.”

He reached out and picked up his wineglass. It had taken a while for him to figure that out, but he’d finally realized it. “I had to be somewhere else. I couldn’t stay until she was awake again.”

Ariel nodded. “So V. H. told me—and I saw the MPs Diane Beckman sent after you. So what about after your assignment? You haven’t seen her, you haven’t called her to see how she is, you haven’t, in fact, done anything.”

Casey sighed. There was no easy way to say it. “It was too late.”

“Excuse me?” Ariel sounded more angry than incredulous, which, given the subject, didn’t particularly surprise Casey. She leaned forward and once more folded her arms on the table. “Mariah was—is—still in your apartment covering your ass, and your only answer is it’s too late?”

He clamped his jaw shut. This was going nowhere. He was going to take his verbal beating from Riah’s mother—God knew he deserved it—but what was done was done, and there was no way back.

“Tell me, Casey,” she said after letting the silence stretch for an uncomfortably long time, “do you feel anything at all for my daughter?”

Casey swallowed, but he didn’t answer. He wasn’t about to hand her the information for which she fished. Yes, he did feel something for Riah, but he wasn’t ready to tell her mother so.

After a long moment, she nodded and pushed back from the table. “I’ll call Nigel. He’ll return you to your hotel.” Ariel stood and looked grimly down at him a moment. “Thank you for the last week.”

He watched her go to a wall phone, listened to her tell Nigel that “Major Casey is ready to leave.” When she hung up, she walked back to the table and began to gather dirty dishes, carried them to the sink. Casey picked up his share and followed her.

The whole time they cleared the table and waited for Nigel to make his reappearance, Casey warred with himself. Finally, he set his wineglass next to the sink and quietly said, “I love her.”

Ariel caught his arm before he could move away. “Then for God’s sake tell her.”

Nigel’s return spared him having to answer. Casey thanked her for dinner, said good night, and followed the other man to the car. What he hadn’t been prepared for was the man to weigh in just as they pulled up to his hotel. “Miss Mariah did not deserve what you did.”

Casey had been halfway out the car when Nigel said that. He leaned down and looked in the open door. “No, she didn’t.”

Nigel nodded, having apparently had his say, and motioned for Casey to close the door.

 

Casey had trouble sleeping. It wasn’t the first time in his life, and it wouldn’t be the last. Around four, he finally gave up even trying. He had spent most of the night rehashing his time with Riah, dissecting and evaluating what had happened between them. The question before him was whether or not Riah would listen to him—assuming he could get up the nerve to even face her. For all he knew, she’d slam the door in his face if he went back, and he’d deserve it, too.

In the very early hours of the morning he prepared to leave England for Washington. It was nearly Christmas, and he had a meeting for the following day with General Beckman. He would be briefed on his next assignment at that time, and then he would have four days to spend with his family before shipping out. He hadn’t been home for Christmas in six years, and while he had looked forward to it, he now wondered how he might dice his leave up to get in a visit to Riah. It might be weak of him, but the desire to see her was strong.

His plans changed at the last minute. He was met at the airport by an NSA agent and told he was to go to New York first. He was handed orders for a fast collection job and a new plane ticket. He would have several hours in New York to see he had the time to meet the agent who had further information for Beckman. It irritated Casey to be what V. H. had always called a mailman, but he did it, glad at least that the other agent was where he was supposed to be when he was supposed to be. Having made the pickup, he strolled down Fifth Avenue rather than take a cab immediately back to the local bureau’s office and then the airport. He wanted to be outside a while and kill a little time. He had stashed his bag with the local bureau before going out to the meet, and he had calculated when to arrive at the bureau in time to get his bag and make his flight. In the meantime, he finished his Christmas shopping for his family, and as he walked past Tiffany’s, he paused.

A few months earlier, he had found himself briefly in Antwerp. After he’d taken the escaped Afghani warlord with Al Qaeda ties into custody and had turned him over to the local CIA bureau chief—sometimes he wished they would quit letting the CIA boys have all the interrogation fun—he had found himself at loose ends for twenty-eight hours. He’d been walking through a shopping district on his way to a restaurant he’d always liked and had seen a pair of earrings in a shop window. Despite the fact that they were diamonds, he’d bought them for Riah. The salesman had convinced him to take the matching pendant as well, and he’d carried them in his bags since. Occasionally, he would find the package and think he ought to give it to one of his sisters. Other times, he thought they would never make up for what he’d put Riah through—assuming he saw her again, that was.

Now, standing outside Tiffany’s, he eyed the window display and the piece that had caught his attention: an engagement ring, platinum with an emerald cut diamond flanked by two baguettes. His lips twitched as he stood there, remembered what Riah had said in Banff.

Afterward, he was never really sure why he had gone inside. He was even less sure why he told the smiling saleswoman he was interested in the ring in the window. At the possibility of making that kind of sale, she was a lot more friendly than she had been when he first approached her, and as she brought him the ring, he thought this could be a very expensive way to find out Riah didn’t love him. When the saleswoman handed it to him, he almost told her no thanks, told himself he should do that and leave, but then he heard himself give the woman Riah’s ring size and ask if they had one that would fit her.

God must be laughing at him, he decided, when the saleswoman told him he was holding the right size. Riah had said she didn’t like diamonds, and he was an idiot if he spent the kind of money what he held would probably cost for something she had already told him she wouldn’t want. If he was really going to do this, he ought to look at stones he knew she liked, but he liked the ring he held. He suspected, despite her protests, Riah would as well.

Casey had never spent a lot of his pay. He paid his mortgage, but the house in Maryland was paid for as of eight months ago, not that he spent much time there anymore, and he bought the occasional car over the years. He had a moment of mourning for the Crown Vic he had let Chuck murder to save them the year before. He didn’t spend a lot on clothes, especially since he had spent most of his adult life in uniform. Most of what he spent was on his personal arsenal, but even that was not that much. He could afford this, even after the dent he’d made when he bought the earrings and necklace for Riah. Before he could change his mind, he handed the ring back to the saleswoman and fished for his wallet. “I’ll take it.”

He felt a little faint when he saw the total on the credit card slip. He’d bought cars that cost less than this, including the murdered Crown Victoria and its replacement. He signed his name and put his credit card back in his wallet.

As he rode in the taxi to JFK, he nearly told the driver to take him back to Tiffany’s so he could return the ring. He had no idea when he might see Riah again, and he had no guarantees that if he asked her she would say yes. He supposed he had more reason to expect her to shoot him on sight.

His flight to Washington was uneventful, and Beckman sent an agent to escort him. After he picked up his bag, he got in the front passenger seat of yet another dark SUV and let the other man drive him to headquarters. They talked a bit, mostly about people they knew, and when they arrived, Casey once more picked up his bag, stashed it in his office, and made his way to Beckman’s.

After Casey was debriefed, he was given his orders. He stayed at his house that night. He had another series of meetings with Beckman and others who would provide support for his mission, and then he began his leave. He was due back two days after Christmas to prepare for a mission to Gaza.

He’d caught a news story about the growing unrest while he was in his London hotel, and he learned from his briefing that apparently an overture had been made by the Palestinians to the Americans through back channels. Because the U.S. supported Israel, they had been rebuffed, but an old ally had quietly gotten word to Beckman that it would be worth the NSA’s time to send someone to Gaza City as soon as possible, that the Americans would find it very worthwhile to talk to them. He knew the man who had contacted them, had worked with him in the past, and, as a result, Beckman was sending him to meet the Palestinian. Casey knew it could be a trap, but if what the man hinted was true, then it would be worthwhile to hear him out.

After some debate, Casey rented a car for the nearly three-hour drive to his mother’s. That way he wouldn’t have to find a way to get his car home when he left for Gaza. He pulled into his mother’s driveway shortly after eight p.m.

His mother was not alone. His youngest sister, Julie, was there as well. After he’d hugged both women and taken his bags upstairs, he went down to his mother’s kitchen. He hadn’t eaten, knowing his mother would insist on feeding him, and she sat him at the table and bustled around him. Casey gave his sister a hard time. She was the only one besides him who wasn’t married, and he grilled her about her current boyfriend. He hadn’t thought it through, though. It was just what he always did, but he had forgotten her end of it—giving back as good as she got. This time, though, he noticed she was deflecting a lot of what he said, and he suspected she’d broken up with this Dan, whoever he was, and didn’t want to admit it to their mother yet.

“And what about you?” Julie asked, lifting a brow as she forked romaine out of her Caesar salad. “Been off romancing any foreign femme fatales?”

Riah popped immediately into his head. He could feel the color run up under his skin. His voice was gruff as he stabbed at his salad and gave her a curt, “No.”

Julie snorted, and he could tell she didn’t believe him. “Let me guess,” she taunted. “Brunette?”

He shot her a glare.

“Okay, redhead.”

He amped up the glare to what Riah called his Death Glare.

Julie wasn’t intimidated. “You’ve never really gone for blondes before, Johnny,” she said with a broad grin. “This one must be different.”

He turned his attention to the lasagna his mother sat in front of him and ignored her.

If he’d thought refusing to engage would dissuade his sister, he should have known better. “I’ll bet she’s one of those empty-headed California beach bunnies whose breast measurement is higher than her IQ. You’re about the right age for a middle-aged crisis.”

Casey put his fork down and said tersely, “I am not having a mid-life crisis, Julie. There’s no blonde bimbo.” He hadn’t lied. He made it a policy not to lie to his family, even when he couldn’t tell them the truth. In those cases, he simply didn’t answer. As a result, they knew he had been in California, had more recently been overseas, for the job. Beyond that, they knew nothing. Riah might be blonde, but she was no bimbo. And her IQ was certainly far larger than her bra size. “Besides,” he grunted, “I’m not the only one at this table old enough to be having a mid-life crisis.”

“Don’t know about you, Johnny,” she shot back with a grin, “but I plan to be like the other women in this family and live well past eighty-two, so I think the midpoint in my life is a ways away.”

Their mother decided to intervene then, “Eat. Both of you.” When their mother used that tone, they knew to do as they were told.

Julie left after they finished eating, told their mother she’d be back the next day, explained to Casey that she had to work in the morning but had the afternoon off. She gave him a hug and told him it was about time he made it back for Christmas and left. He helped his mother clean the kitchen, felt a little guilty for being distracted. He couldn’t help wondering what Riah was doing the next day, Christmas Eve. Was she expecting family the day after, or did she also have some time off? He hoped she’d spend Christmas day with Ellie if she was in Los Angeles alone. Ellie Bartowski generally took in strays at the holidays, as he well knew, and he knew the other woman would watch out for her.

He also wondered whether Riah would be thinking about the baby she had lost. It had been nearly four months since she miscarried. He didn’t know how far along she had been when that happened since he could hardly ask without raising red flags all over the place. Her family knew she had been pregnant, but he didn’t know who else had known.

“Johnny?” his mother’s voice sliced sharply through his thoughts, and he realized she had said it more than once. He took the pan she held toward him and dried it, put it away, and forced himself to pay attention to his mother rather than think about a woman three thousand miles away.

Casey sat at the table a while when they had finished the dishes and policed the kitchen. His mother knew he couldn’t talk about his job, but she had learned over the years what she could ask, so he told her he’d been out of the country for most of the past five months. She asked if he was going back to California, and he told her not for the foreseeable future. She frowned but said nothing. “You’re different, Johnny,” she said at last.

He looked up at her. His mother was different, too. She seemed to have shrunk a little since the last time he saw her. That had been a little over two years ago while he packed to leave yet again. Her snowy hair was neatly cut and styled, and she was still a good-looking woman. Like Riah, she appeared quite a bit younger than she actually was. He saw something different this time, though, saw that the years were finally beginning to catch up with her. He had noticed, too, that the iron fist was more velvet glove these days, unless she had been going easy on him because it was the first time he’d been home in a long time. He felt a little guilty for not having been around more, for not making time to visit when he had leave. “Different how?” he asked.

She tilted her head to the side. Her intelligent eyes dissected him, and for once he didn’t have the urge to squirm. That look when he was younger had generally made him crack and spill everything he knew. This time, he thought, it didn’t have quite the effect it used to. He wasn’t sure if that was because he’d changed, as she alleged, or because she wasn’t putting quite the effort into intimidating him into submission as she had before. “Just different,” she said, and Casey was confused. It wasn’t like her to back down from a line of inquiry, but that was what she appeared to be doing. She moved on to talk about his other two sisters and their families. She talked about his nieces and nephews, and Casey’s thoughts turned again to Riah and the child she’d lost. Would it have been a boy or a girl? Would it have looked like Riah or like him—or like both of them?

He was tempted to tell his mother, tell her she might have had another grandchild to spoil rotten, but he couldn’t. To tell her was to rip the scab off the wound, and he wasn’t ready to do that yet. He also knew his mother well enough to know she wouldn’t be satisfied until he had told her every little detail, including what he derided to Bartowski as his “lady feelings.” There was nothing ladylike about what he felt for Riah, though. It was dark, deep, strong, hungry.

“Johnny?”

His mother’s sharp voice called his attention back to her, and he caught the question in her gaze. He’d been in his own world again. He sat up a little straighter and vowed not to get distracted again. He pushed all thoughts of Riah and what would never be out and focused on his mother. After another hour, tiredness began to wash over him. His mother noticed and sent him off to bed.

She hadn’t made many changes in his old room. His old furniture was still there, and if he opened the drawers in the dresser, he was certain he would find a few clothes from his college days, clothes he’d left when he went off to join the Marines. His bags were still on the spare twin bed. He unzipped the larger of the two and fished out pajamas. He would do what unpacking might be necessary in the morning. He unzipped the smaller one and found his shaving kit. The presents he’d brought for his family were in that bag, and he’d take them downstairs in the morning. Riah’s ring was in his briefcase, and so were the earrings and necklace he’d bought months ago. He dropped the shaving kit on the pajamas and put the briefcase on his old desk. He popped the locks and opened it, lifted the ring box from inside. When he opened it, the diamonds caught the lamplight and sparkled.

He thought about what Riah had said, how they were cold, but these had fire in them, much like Riah herself. He snapped the box shut and set it on the desk. He was unlikely to have an opportunity to offer it to her. He supposed he could ship the earrings and necklace to her, maybe for her birthday. He’d think about returning the ring when he next got to New York.

 

Surprisingly, given how tired he was, he didn’t sleep much. He couldn’t get comfortable, and he kept thinking about what a mess he’d made of his personal life. He should have known better. As had been pointed out to him time and time again, men like him, men who did what he did, rarely got the opportunities other men got. Paul Patterson had tried—even Bartowski had tried—to convince him it was possible to have a woman he loved and do his job, but he couldn’t. Even if he could, he had ruined his chance with the woman he wanted.

It was funny how he had only briefly thought of marrying Ilsa, but he couldn’t get the idea of marrying Riah completely out of his head. Ilsa would have been better suited to him. After all, she was a hardened spy, knew what the risks were and was ruthless enough to do what needed to be done. Casey had often wondered why the softer-hearted Riah persisted in their business, especially when she had had more pain from it than joy. Not that he had found much happiness in his line of work. Satisfaction, yes, but happiness, no.

He refused to think of Kathleen.

Tomorrow—today—he’d have to see his two happily married sisters with their husbands and their children, and for the first time, he would envy them. He would be jealous that they had what he never could, what he now knew he wanted himself.

He flopped over on his other side and tried to settle in and sleep. He sometimes had holidays where he was depressed—miles from home and miles from anyone he knew and loved and unable to call and even say a quick hello—but this one was different. He ached to take his bags and get on a plane and go to Riah, but he couldn’t disappoint his family. He hadn’t seen them for a holiday in six years, after all, and Riah wasn’t expecting him home as they were. _Home_. Los Angeles wasn’t home, but Riah was. He sighed, determined to kill his newfound maudlin streak and get to sleep.

The coming day was Christmas Eve. Maybe he could call Riah late in the evening, wish her a merry Christmas, Casey thought as he finally started to drift off, but he was fairly certain he wouldn’t.

 

Awake early, Casey rolled on his back and stared at the shadowed ceiling above him. It would be dawn soon. He should get up and go for a run, but he didn’t feel like it. He lay there a while longer, thought about the things he had the night before and analyzed whether the past few hours had changed any of what he thought or felt. So much for the idea of sleeping on something, he thought in disgust. He was no clearer on what he wanted to do than he’d been the night before, and he was no closer to how—or even whether—to approach Riah.

Casey rolled out of bed. He could hear his mother downstairs, so he showered and dressed before he joined her in the kitchen. She had begun preparations for Christmas dinner the following day, and he sat and absorbed caffeine while she made pie crust. When she had two pumpkin pies ready and had put them in the oven, she poured herself more coffee then took the chair opposite him. She gave him a steely-eyed look and said, “Under other circumstances, I wouldn’t rush you, Johnny, but there isn’t much time before you go, so I think you should tell me what’s bothering you.”

He grimaced. Trust his mother to figure out his distraction meant something was wrong. “Mother,” he said, but before he could tell her he didn’t want to talk about it, she reached across the scarred table and covered his hand.

“John, something’s wrong, and you might as well tell me what it is.” She gave him a grim look. “You know damn well I’ll worm it out of you, so you might as well give in.”

She would, too, he thought ruefully. He stared into his coffee cup, wondered if he could find a way to get a reprieve. After a moment, he decided he might as well get it over with. “There’s . . . a girl—woman,” he said softly.

His mother’s mouth twitched. “There usually is,” she said wryly.

“This one’s different,” he assured her. He knew she was thinking of how he had made a mess of virtually every romantic entanglement he’d ever had. He hadn’t talked about women much, not since high school, anyway, especially not after Kathleen, although his mother had wormed out the story of him and Ilsa, too, after he’d thought the other woman was dead. He hadn’t known Ilsa was a spy then, and for a brief moment he considered a bait and switch—feed her Ilsa as spy rather than Riah.

“How different?” she asked as she released his hand, cradled her coffee cup between her palms, and sat back.

He ran a finger along a scratch on the table’s old, battered surface. He tried to figure out a way to tell her about Riah without telling her what he couldn’t. “Very,” he said at last. “I met her through the job.” His mother, despite official policy, knew what he did for a living, but she knew not to ask too many questions. “She’s the daughter of an old friend.”

His mother looked grave. “How young is she, Johnny?”

Casey grimaced. “Honestly? Young enough to be my daughter.” His mother looked shocked, so he added, “Riah’s seventeen years younger than I am, Mom. She’s twenty-nine.”

“Not so young,” she observed.

He shook his head. “We were living together before I went overseas.” It took him a moment to look up at her because he knew she didn’t approve of unmarried couples living together. She’d made that crystal clear when his oldest sister moved in with the man she eventually married while they were in college.

“I see,” she said, and Casey could tell she was trying not to say anything that might make him angry or make him stop talking. “Do you mind if I ask why you aren’t with her? Or why she isn’t here with you?”

This was going to be the tricky part, and he wasn’t looking forward to what his mother might say. “I don’t think she wants to talk to me.”

His mother frowned. “Surely you explained about your job,” she said at last.

“It’s not that simple.” He registered his mother’s surprise. “Riah thinks I left without telling her.” She looked a bit confused by that, so he clarified: “A little more than five months ago.” His mother said nothing in response, but the look she gave him spoke volumes. “I left a note for her, but she didn’t get it.” He stared once more at his cup and disliked how defensive he sounded. “I called her once, but there wasn’t time to really talk to her since I was getting on a chopper. She knows what I do, and she seemed to take it pretty well.”

“I’m hearing a really big ‘but’ there, Johnny.”

It was a really big _but_ , he knew. He decided to just get it out there and deal with his mother’s wrath afterward. “She was pregnant, Mom, but she didn’t tell me. She,” he stopped and sucked in a ragged breath, concentrated on that scratch in the table his finger continued to trace, “she miscarried. She didn’t tell me that, either. I only found out because she was nearly killed about three months ago, and her sister told me in the hospital.”

“Nearly killed?” his mother squeaked faintly.

He still hadn’t looked at her. He nodded, though. “Riah works for ISI.” He looked up then. “That’s a—“

“I know what ISI is,” she said, and Casey realized he shouldn’t have been surprised she had heard of the foreign agency. “So you went to see her when she was . . . ?”

“I was there when it happened,” he said, and quickly explained about evaluating the training mission and how Riah had been shot by the sniper Faraday. He had to stop a minute before he could continue. “She nearly bled to death.” He swallowed thickly. “I had to return to my job before she . . . . I don’t think she even knew I was there. Her mother says she thinks she hallucinated me.”

“Her mother.”

He could tell his own mother was trying to figure out what kind of mess her son had made of his life, and he knew there were gaps in his story, knew it was coming out in a tangled mess, but there were just some things he wasn’t sure he was ready to tell her. He nodded. “Her mother is Ariel Taylor.”

“The singer? The one you describe—when you’re trying to be polite—as a royal pain in the ass?” Casey nodded. “And you’ve talked to her mother but not to her?”

Nodding once more, Casey said, “They sent me as part of Ariel’s protection detail when she played Iraq for the USO last week.”

His mother sighed and then said, “Johnny.” He reluctantly met her eyes. “Do you love this Riah?”

For a moment, he considered denying it. He’d only said it three times, none of which had been to Riah herself. It seemed wrong to keep telling other people when he hadn’t told the woman herself how he felt. His mother’s gaze compelled him to admit it. He nodded. “Yes. I do.”

To his surprise, she snorted, smiled, and said, “Remember those words.” He frowned as she stood, took his cup and poured his cold coffee down the drain before refilling his cup and hers. She set his fresh coffee in front of him and resumed her seat. “What’s she like?”

This was easy, and the words poured out. He told his mother about Riah, about her intelligence, about how well she thought under pressure, about how she could be surprisingly brave, and he explained about her vulnerabilities. He found himself telling her about the darker pieces of Riah’s past, about what had happened when she was seven and in vague terms about Gray Laurance and what the other man had put her through. He told his mother Riah had reasons for her fragility, but she generally won out over them. Casey didn’t want his mother to think she was mentally unstable, though he had to concede that she sometimes was. He told his mother she was loyal, that when she loved, she did so unconditionally, a fact he knew from watching her relationships with her family. Suddenly self-conscious, he stopped.

His mother had an odd expression when he looked up. She gave him a small smile. “What does she look like?”

For a moment he looked for the words to describe Riah, but they failed him. He suspected his mother was trying to distract him from the things he’d just told her. He snorted. “Julie had one thing right: she’s blonde.” He went on to try and describe Riah, but it came out more like the sort of description he would read on an elimination order. Then he remembered the picture he’d carried with him since he left her. He told his mother he had a photograph, and she followed him upstairs. The frame had been broken the month before, but he hadn’t had a chance to replace it. As a result, it was tucked between the pages of a field manual he fished out of his briefcase. He looked at it a moment, stared at Riah’s face, and then handed it over to his mother.

Casey felt anxious as his mother looked at the photograph closely. She asked, “How old is this?”

He shrugged. “Six months or so.”

She held the photograph out to him. “She looks very young.” He nodded and took it back, slid it inside the field manual again. When he looked up, he realized his mother was reaching for the small box on the edge of the desk. He knew better than to stop her before she opened it. “Oh, Johnny.” She sounded sad, and that made him even more uneasy than he’d already been over telling her about Riah. “You’re serious about her, aren’t you?”

He nodded, not trusting himself to say anything.

“You need to go,” she said. She looked up at him. “If you love her, you need to go and find out if she feels the same way you do, and you need to do it before it really is too late.” She closed the ring box and handed it to him. “See if you can find a flight.”

“This is the first Christmas I’ve been home—“

She cut him off. “I’m not getting any younger, and neither are you. All I’ve wanted is for you to be happy. I didn’t raise a coward. If you love her, go. We’ll survive without you.” Casey started to argue, but then he realized she was giving him permission to do what he wanted to do anyway. He kissed his mother’s cheek, and she hugged him tightly. “Now. See if you can still get on a plane before your leave is over.”

As he waited for his laptop to boot and connect to the Internet, he tried not to think too closely about what he was doing. He’d start with commercial flights. A commercial flight meant fewer problems than pulling strings for a government transport. One thing he knew was that getting to marry Riah wasn’t just a matter of his asking and her saying yes—assuming she said yes. His agency would have a few things to say, primarily because of who she was and what she did for a living. He felt a shiver race down his spine as he thought of her father and what objections he might raise. He surfed the travel sites, frowned. Finally, he found a seat on a flight leaving that night and a return flight that would get him back in time for his meeting with Beckman. He booked the seats before he could change his mind.

When he went downstairs to tell his mother, she looked over her shoulder and asked when he was leaving. He told her, and she nodded. “I called your sisters and told them you had to leave—but not why—and that we were moving Christmas up a day.”

He lent her a hand in the kitchen, and when the rest of his family arrived and began asking him why he was leaving early, it was his mother who answered, told them he had an important mission. Casey refused to tell them what it was, knew he’d never hear the end of it. He didn’t want to tell them because Riah could say no, and if she did, he wouldn’t be able to bear it, let alone have his family do what they did best—try to make it right.

Dinner wasn’t quite the leisurely affair it usually was, in part because he was leaving and in part because they were all trying to cram events that normally took a day into a handful of hours. He felt guilty for spoiling their holiday, but no one seemed to mind. Certainly the kids were happy to get to their presents earlier than they usually would. He had one bad moment not long before dinner when Julie cornered him in the hallway and demanded to know what was going on. She reminded him of Emma MacKenzie, and suddenly Casey realized he’d booked a flight to Los Angeles but Riah might not even be there. As soon as he escaped, he went up to his room and called Emma.

There was a moment after he identified himself when he was thankful Riah’s sister was several hundred miles away. Once he explained why he was calling her, rapidly because he thought she might hang up on him since she sounded pissed off, Emma told him Riah was still in Los Angeles. Riah hadn’t been able to get time off, she explained, and Emma didn’t mince words about that. She finally thought to ask why he wanted to know. He hesitated, and that was enough for her to say, “I can’t say she’ll be too happy to see you because she’s really, really angry about your disappearing act, so you’re going to have a very hard time getting her to talk to you.” She snorted. “I’m not even sure she’ll let you in the door, but if she does, I think she’ll forgive you if you’re patient enough to let her ream you out first.”

He snorted. Trust Emma to once more figure out what he was up to where her sister was concerned. “You know, Casey,” she continued, “I feel like I should tell you that if you ever do anything like that to my sister again, you won’t have to worry about what V. H. might do to you. You’d better worry about what I’ll do to you.”

“Emma,” he said, “I promise I’ll never willingly hurt her again.”

She made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a grunt. “Part of me wonders how much to trust a spy’s promise, but I saw you in Ottawa, and it’s Christmas, so I’ll take it on faith. Just tell her good bye when you finally have to go.”

“I will,” he promised. “Thanks, Emma.”

When he hung up and left the room, two of his sisters stood outside his door with crossed arms. Julie asked, “Who’s Emma?” and Jenn, his middle sister, asked, “More importantly, who’s Riah?”

His mother called them down to dinner, and from that point on, they were too busy to follow up on their questions, questions he hadn’t answered. Dinner took longer than usual, or maybe it was just his imagination since he was increasingly focused on the clock, and he was getting antsy. He bore it, and he felt guilty for wishing he could just leave and go to Riah. He watched his nieces and nephews open their presents, opened his own, and wished time would move faster. His mother noticed and nodded at him at last.

He stood and told them he had to leave to catch his flight. They made noises about how unfair it was, but he managed not to say anything that confirmed or denied his mother’s story. He hugged the kids, shook hands with his brothers-in-law, and kissed his sisters. His mother walked him out, and after he’d put his bags in the trunk of the rental car, she reached up and hugged him before she kissed both his cheeks. “I love you, Johnny.”

“I love you, too, Mother.”

She hugged him again. “Now get me a daughter-in-law for Christmas.”


	12. Chapter 12

The flight was uncomfortable, crowded with people travelling home at the last minute for the holidays. His seat was in coach, and Casey was crammed into it with virtually no leg room for someone of average height, which he most certainly wasn’t. He probably should have played the military card and got a seat in first class.

By the time they reached Los Angeles, he was stiff, tired, and had the headache from Hell. The child behind him had pretty much shrieked the entire way. He wore his sidearm, and several times he had been tempted to use it. He’d refrained, but it had been a close call. Casey simply hadn’t been sure who he wanted to shoot—the kid or himself. While he waited for his bags at baggage claim, he debated renting a car, but then he decided he’d just take a cab. Once he snagged his bags, he changed his mind. He knew Riah might not be happy to see him, so having a way to escape appealed to him.

If it weren’t for the possibility Riah would send him out of their apartment at gunpoint, he’d have called Bartowski and asked the kid to pick him up.

Then again, Chuck would tell Riah he was coming, and he might not get a chance to even leave the airport.

Casey parked outside the apartment complex in Echo Park. He sat and stared at the mostly dark building. There were lights on here and there, but most of the residents were either gone or in bed. He thought of the nights he’d spent in bed with Riah, her soft warmth cradled against him. He’d missed her, missed that, missed the sense of peace he generally felt when he held her while she slipped into sleep before he followed her.

As he sat there, Casey realized he was still pretty damned mad at her. She’d done nothing to try and reach him, not even after she’d found out she was pregnant. Maybe she’d thought better of how she felt for him, especially after she’d miscarried. Riah hadn’t contacted him then, either. Admittedly, he’d disappeared on her. That tended to piss women off. To make matters worse, he’d left her pregnant and alone. She might not forgive him for that, and Casey debated checking into a hotel for the night. He could come see her in the morning, talk to her in the cold light of day—if he talked to her at all.

He’d never been this indecisive in his life. Give him a mission, and he could easily weigh his options and decide the course to take. Present him with a chance to get the only woman he wanted back, and he couldn’t decide what to do. Casey gave a self-deprecating laugh. It was flight or fight, he realized, and he couldn’t decide which to do. There were many reasons to leave, to not do this. He was closer to fifty than he liked to admit. Riah was just shy of thirty. He had graduated from high school before she was even a year old. He was too old for her, Casey told himself, but then another part of him remembered she hadn’t seemed to care. What he did constantly put his life in danger, and she could be collateral damage. For that matter, she had been a target most of her life, and he didn’t think he could take a third strike when it came to women he cared about.

Ultimately, he was who and what he was, and he was unwilling to change that, not even for Riah. Not, he thought, watching a light in an apartment window—Showalter, tax accountant—wink out, that she had given any indication she would ask that of him. Sooner or later he’d have to hang it up. They made FBI special agents retire at fifty-seven, but he didn’t have an expiration date of which he was aware—then again, he was unlikely to voluntarily retire, was more likely to be retired by the enemy.

That would leave Riah alone and vulnerable. If they had children—and for a minute Casey paused, chased that thought, not completely sure how he felt about that possibility—it left her not only vulnerable but with responsibilities she shouldn’t have to shoulder alone. Of course, that all assumed she said yes when he asked her—if he asked her. Expensive ring from Tiffany’s and his mother’s expectations notwithstanding, he wasn’t all together certain he had the nerve to ask Riah if she wanted to marry him. He thought about that night in Chicago, the night he’d dropped one pretense for another. He’d wanted to take her to his hotel and make love to her, but he hadn’t. He’d taken her home and left her there with her family.

And that, oddly, seemed the metaphor for their relationship. He wanted, but he chose not to follow through.

Then again, that was largely the story of his adult life.

Only Casey hadn’t been able to leave it at that in Chicago. It had been one of the rare times in his life when he’d had a failure of will. He’d let Dietrich’s words and the scotch send him back to her, and the following morning sanity had returned. He hadn’t made love to her, not completely, but he’d set them on the path to what happened later. After they had become lovers, he’d been content to stall the relationship there. Riah had seemed equally content with what they had. He had known—and if he hadn’t, he should have—it couldn’t continue like that. When Beckman pulled him from Mission Moron, Casey should have personally spoken to Riah, should have explained, but he hadn’t. If he’d acted on instinct, he wondered where they would be now.

He looked at his watch. It was early morning. He’d play it by ear, he thought, and as Casey stepped from the car, he realized it was Christmas day. His mother used to tell him Christmas was a time of miracles, and though he’d never really believed her, he thought he might just need one.

Casey took his bags from the trunk and made his way into the courtyard where he crossed to their apartment. A light burned downstairs. Casey set his bags by the door and looked between the slats of the open blinds covering the front windows. Riah was asleep on the couch, an open book in front of her. He let himself in quietly, set his suitcases in front of the bookcase just inside the door, then closed and locked the door before he reset the alarm system. He stood and watched her, worried that she hadn’t even stirred when he entered. She remained sound asleep when he crept toward her, careful not to make a sound. Nothing had changed in the apartment since he left, he noted, except for the small Christmas tree with no presents beneath it.

She looked so very young asleep, and he felt very old as he looked down at her. Perhaps he should just take his things and go, he thought again, but then he thought of facing his mother or Emma and having to explain he hadn’t had the nerve to go through with it after all. Riah moved, and he froze, irritated that he held his breath—as if that would make a difference to whether or not she fully woke. Riah rolled over to face the back of the couch while Casey breathed shallowly until her breathing deepened once more. He picked up her book and slipped the bookmark inside before he closed it and set it on the coffee table. He toed his shoes off as he reached to turn her lamp out. The only light came from the Christmas tree as he shed his jacket and his holster before he eased himself onto the couch behind her, molded his body to hers, and breathed in the lavender scent of her shampoo.

It had been so long since he’d held her like this, and once he realized she wasn’t going to wake, he enjoyed the feel of her. He let her warmth seep into him.

Then he wondered if she had taken the sleeping pills, worried that she had simply settled back into him and continued sleeping. He wasn’t about to try waking her to find out, though.

 

He must have gone to sleep, Casey realized, when he felt her move against him as he surfaced slowly. He heard her breath catch, but he remained relaxed, hoped she’d settle into sleep again, give him more time to consider what he needed to say to her. When she moved once more, he realized she was about to roll over. Casey decided it was time to man up and do what he’d come to do. He moved slightly, realized one of his arms had become pinned and gone to sleep.

Riah rolled over then, and even in the dim light from the Christmas tree, he could see her stormy expression. “Take a wrong turn?” she bit out.

He stopped the sigh. He’d known this wouldn’t be easy, but he had hoped she would meet him half way. He suspected she was about to make him work very hard to regain her trust. Not that he could blame her, he acknowledged. “No.”

For a split second he saw shocked surprise flicker across her face; then the anger flooded in behind it. He couldn’t exactly read her mind, but something in her expression told him she was trying to find the ugliest thing she could say to him. He was tired still, so he tried to head her off. “Whatever’s going on in that head of yours, stop it. Hear me out.”

“You have nothing to say I want to hear,” she hissed at him, pushing at his chest and arms to get him to release her.

Casey tightened his grip, understood that if he released her he would lose his chance. He used his larger body to hold hers against the back of the couch, watched her face as he pushed her back into the cushions. She was too angry to panic over being confined, which might work in his favor. He watched, waited, wondered if she would realize he had her trapped and whether she would go to pieces if she did. As a result, he saw when it dawned on her to retaliate, so he trapped her leg with his before she could use it. “Humor me,” he rasped.

“You aren’t giving me a choice,” Riah said bitterly.

“No, I’m not.” She tensed, struggled a few moments, but he flexed muscle, kept her in place. Finally, he felt her relax, surrender. Casey knew it was only temporary, knew that if he didn’t find a way to explain his actions to her, he would lose her. He was well aware he wouldn’t get another chance. He weighed several approaches as he studied her face in the faint glow from the Christmas tree, but for once Casey wasn’t sure where he should start.

Perhaps that hesitation was why she ground out, “If you have nothing to say after all, then let me up,” and began to push at him again to get him to release her.

He tightened his grip. “Riah—“

“Don’t call me that!” she snapped, slapped the heels of her hands on his chest and shoved at him before he could go any further.

She was angrier than Casey had thought, based on that reaction and the probable bruises she’d just given him, which would make his job even more difficult. He sighed, said the first thing he could think of: “I’m an ass, okay?”

“You defame four-legged beasts of burden.” His jaw tightened at the venom in her voice. He’d seen her angry, but he’d never heard her like this before. Riah wasn’t finished, either. “My mother was right, you know. Men _are_ somewhere lower than pond scum on the evolutionary scale.”

That took him aback. Admittedly, Riah had more reason than most to dislike and distrust men, but he’d never before heard her say anything remotely that vicious or unfair. “Mariah—“

She cut him off. “I don’t know why you’re here, Major, but you’re not welcome. What you did was worse than anything Gray Laurance or any other man ever did to me.” Riah swallowed, floundered a second, then firmed her jaw and tore into him again. “You left me, and when I needed you, I didn’t even know where you were. How dare you? And how dare you think you can just walk in here, say a few words you probably don’t even mean, and I’ll just forgive you!”

His own anger welled up, but Casey beat it down. No matter how much he disliked it, what she had just said was a pretty fair summary of what had happened. Where he took issue was her assertion that he didn’t mean the apology he was trying to deliver or that he was in any way insincere. He held back, stopped himself from tearing into her for not having let him know she was pregnant and for not telling him she had miscarried. They could deal with his issues later. Riah obviously needed to have her say, needed to make her accusations, and he would simply have to let her vent her frustration and anger before they could move forward. If he fought back now, she would only retrench, hit back harder, and they wouldn’t get anywhere. As a result, Casey made his voice as neutral as he could when he told her, “I deserved that.”

“Yes,” she ground out, “you do.”

Her use of present tense didn’t escape him, and as he opened his mouth to snap back that he wasn’t the only one to blame, she seemed to retreat. The fight suddenly went out of her. It was as if Riah had said what she wanted, though Casey found it hard to believe she didn’t have more accusations to throw at him. Then he noticed she looked like she was about to cry. He didn’t think he could take it if she cried. The last several months might have been hard on her, but they hadn’t been very easy for him, either. He watched her, watched the tiredness and the hopelessness take over, and he wanted to make it go away. He wasn’t sure what to do the make that happen, so he waited, and when he was certain she wouldn’t say any more, he asked softly, “Are you ready to listen to me?”

She tensed again, then screwed her eyes closed and said wearily, “Say what you have to say.”

Casey felt alarmed by how defeated she sounded. He abandoned the explanation he had carefully planned during his flight and just started talking, said whatever popped into his head. “No excuses. I have no excuse at all.” He shifted a little, freed a hand from behind her and cradled her face so he could lift it up where he could see her more clearly. He ran his thumb over her cheek lightly. “I don’t do feelings, Riah,” he said quietly. “Feelings get me in trouble every time. Feelings got me in trouble this time.”

“How very circular of you.”

That stung. Given the bitter vitriol in that, she wasn’t ready to listen after all. He was trying to bare his soul in a way he’d never done for any woman, and she was flinging it right back at him. He gritted his teeth, tried to get his temper under control. If he couldn’t, he might as well go straight to Washington and get on a plane to Gaza early. He watched her close her eyes again and listened to her breathe deeply. He thought about the night the PTSD overcame her. Casey knew she used breathing to control her emotions, so he rode it out, waited until he felt her body relax again.

Riah opened her eyes slowly, sighed, and said, “I’ll shut up and listen now.”

He decided to change his approach, so he retreated a little. “You’re the boss’s daughter, Riah, and that means you were supposed to be off limits. You were supposed to be my cover, but then the lines started to blur.” It was true, which she apparently understood because he felt her move her head a little, almost as if she made a reluctant nod. Casey was encouraged by that. “At first, I just thought it was proximity,” he explained. “We were both here, and with the cover, there couldn’t be someone else. It didn’t help that we were expected to be affectionate, to touch, to . . . .” He trailed off then, wondered how wise or foolish it might be to remind her of their prior intimacy. This, he thought, was why he had always avoided emotional entanglements. A minefield was easier to safely negotiate than picking his way through feelings—lady or otherwise.

While he tried to figure out what to say next, Riah looked at him and whispered, “To kiss.”

Casey nodded, wished he had the nerve to do just that, kiss her. It had worked before, but even as he considered seeing if physical contact could say it for him, he knew he was going to have to give her the words.

He was desperately out of practice with giving a woman words.

“Maybe it was proximity at first,” he admitted, “but after a while it was you. When you went to Chicago for your birthday, I missed you.” He thought she blushed, but the light was too faint to really tell. Her face softened, and so did his voice. “I couldn’t sleep without you here.”

“I thought you were glad to see me go.”

There was a little bit of a wobble in her voice. Casey felt her hurt like a fist to the chest. He hadn’t been very kind, but he hadn’t understood what was really going on, what he was really feeling, when he had dumped her at LAX and left her without a word. It was time to tell her that. “I was—for about a day.”

She snorted, and for some reason, the fist clenched in his chest loosened at her skepticism. “I would have thought you were glad to have the crazy person gone,” Riah told him acerbically.

One of Casey’s hands smoothed her hair back from her face. He had felt exactly that, he reflected, but it hadn’t taken long for that to change to something he should have been more familiar with—loneliness, a desire to see her, to talk to her. He had missed her, and he never missed anyone other than family. “That was the first clue. I worried about you. I worried that you weren’t sleeping, that you weren’t taking care of yourself. I worried that Laurance would turn up and that you’d decide you wanted him after all. Then I talked to Emma, and I worried that you wanted MacKenzie.”

Riah shifted, pulled back slightly, and frowned at him. Casey wished her expression was easier to read because he still wasn’t exactly sure what was between her and her stepfather despite her denial of interest in the other man. “So you came to Chicago to make sure I was sleeping and that I wasn’t about to elope with my stepfather?”

He gritted his teeth at her skeptical deadpan. That came uncomfortably close to why he had done it. Unfortunately, he was going to have to confess his reasons. “I went to Chicago because I wanted to see you.” Casey cupped her cheek, could tell he needed to explain why. “I took you on a date because I wanted, just once, to pretend it was all real, that you cared about me, that I wasn’t just a piece of equipment, part of the job. Half way through dinner, I knew it was a mistake.”

_Well, those words were a mistake_ , he thought when Riah recoiled and went rigid in his arms. He’d been doing relatively well until then. He caressed the cheek his hand cradled and confessed, “I didn’t want to take you home again. I wanted to take you back to my hotel and make love to you.”

“Why didn’t you?” she whispered, and Casey wondered why he hadn’t, because from the note in her voice, she would have said yes. She had said yes, essentially, when he made his way back to her stepfather’s house. She had let him kiss her, touch her, had let him undress her and taste her, and she had been more than willing to let him fully love her. He had no doubts about that, but he had been the one who stopped, who drew the line.

“Because it wasn’t right,” he told her softly. If Riah took offense at that, he would have to find a way to explain that he hadn’t thought through what might happen. He hadn’t been prepared for her capitulation, but that would simply open the closet for the other skeleton if he had to admit he’d been afraid he would make her pregnant, that he didn’t want to face her father if he did so. Casey wanted matters settled between them before they talked about her miscarriage, wanted her to know how he felt about her before they had to deal with hurt and betrayal and whatever else Riah felt in the wake of that—whatever else he felt as well.

He felt her relax further into him. For the first time since she woke, he thought he might succeed. As he watched her in the darkened room, he decided to fully disclose to her how he felt. Casey started again, this time with one of his personal nightmares. “The night we arrested Laurance,” he told her and heard her suck in a ragged breath as she stiffened at the memory, “I thought Kellett was going to kill you.”

“Me, too,” Riah whispered with a shiver.

He folded her closer, felt her sink into him. He circled back, though, rather than go further down that very dark memory. “When you came home from Chicago, you were distant, and it made me crazy.” It had, too. Casey had thought things had changed when he returned to Los Angeles, but when Riah came back and didn’t even look at him, he thought she’d changed her mind, that she didn’t like him let alone want him. “I didn’t know what to think,” he confessed. “Then V. H. told me you asked to be recalled.”

“You were angry,” she pointed out.

That, he thought, was putting it mildly. He’d been furious. He agreed with her, careful not to sound accusatory. “That night, I couldn’t do it anymore,” Casey conceded. “I couldn’t . . . I just gave in. I needed you.”

When he thought back to that night, he wondered if he’d set out to seduce her because he needed her or because he had wanted her to see she needed him.

Once more, Riah looked like she was going to cry, so when she squeezed her eyes closed, he kissed her forehead before he touched his lips softly to hers. He wanted to do as he had done that night, show her he still wanted her, but he wasn’t sure she still wanted him. Besides, they still had things to say to one another before he clouded the issue with sex. He knew he couldn’t avoid it any longer, so he got down to business, told her what he’d said to her on that one too-brief phone call and in the e-mail she’d never answered. “I left you a note. I asked Beckman to explain why I was gone. I don’t know what happened to the note or why she didn’t tell you.” He kissed her once more, gathered his courage and said what he hadn’t in either of those messages: “I’ve never felt like this for anyone, only for you.”

They stared at one another while Casey held his breath. She hadn’t given him much hope so far that she still felt anything positive for him, and he was suddenly afraid. Riah looked hurt. Casey simply wished she would just say something, anything, that might give him a clue what she was thinking. Until he knew whether she wanted him or wanted him to go, he couldn’t formulate an argument to win her over—if he had to win her over—and the longer her silence stretched, the more he figured he did. Desperate, he breathed, “Riah, please forgive me.”

She continued to study him while he waited as patiently as he could manage. Truthfully, he was surprised he hadn’t dissolved into babble, anything to get her to tell him what she thought, what she felt. Riah’s face bore an odd expression, one Casey puzzled over, tried to decipher in order to judge whether or not she would do as he asked and forgive him. He knew he had given Riah valid reasons not to, but he hoped she would. He just hoped she would give him something he could work with. Her expression turned desolate again, so he urged, “Say something.”

Her breathing accelerated, and Riah tensed in his arms once more. “This isn’t real,” she breathed. Casey could hear panic in her voice. “I’m imagining this. I drank too much at Ellie’s this evening. You aren’t here, and you didn’t say those things—“

He stopped her as he’d done once before, with his mouth. He wasn’t sure whether or not Riah realized it, but her flood of words gave him hope. If she was afraid, she felt something. Casey just hoped it was what he wanted her to feel, that she loved him just as he loved her. He nudged her mouth open, deepened the kiss, tried to put what he felt into it. When it was necessary to come up for air, he told her, “I am here, and I did say that.” She shivered against him as he nibbled a kiss below her ear in the spot he knew made her a complete puddle. Then he plunged off the cliff, whispered fervently in her ear, “I love you, Riah, and if you don’t love me back, tell me now.”

What he said hung there between them, and just as Casey was about to release her, let go of her, leave her, she said faintly, “I’ve imagined you before.”

God might have been laughing when Casey stood in Tiffany’s holding an engagement ring she might refuse, but apparently He was willing to throw him a bone. He just hoped the Almighty wasn’t tossing him a lifeline only to send him beneath the water for the third time. If Riah thought she was imagining this, then it was just possible she returned his feelings. He took her mouth again, once more put what he felt into his exploration of her mouth before admitting, “Ariel told me.”

For some reason, he was amused by her obvious shock and her breathless, “Okay. Now I’m sure you’re an hallucination.”

It wasn’t funny, especially, that she thought she had made him up, but it did a lot to encourage him. “Riah,” he plunged on, picking up with the reference she had made to her last hospitalization, “when that moron shot you, it scared twenty years off my life. When I got to you, you were nearly gone.”

She stared up at him; her eyes widened in surprise. “You weren’t there,” she breathed. “You weren’t there.

“I was,” he assured her. “Your father, probably because he thought he could play Cupid afterward, asked me to perform an independent evaluation of a training exercise. He never told me you were going to be there. When Faraday shot you, when I reached you, I thought it was too late, that you were going to die.” He dropped a kiss on her mouth, as much to reassure himself as to reassure her. “That evening in the hospital was the longest night of my life, Riah. The next few days weren’t very easy, either. When you finally woke . . . .” He swallowed thickly and searched for something to prove to her he had, indeed, been there. “You said, ‘This is starting to be a habit.’”

Her hand rose to his cheek, and he pressed into her palm. “I don’t remember that.”

“You were pretty doped up,” Casey admitted, remembered the odd things she had said to him. It had taken him a while to understand Riah didn’t believe she was really talking to him. “I stayed until Beckman sent two MPs after me to see I made my flight to Kabul. My bosses weren’t too happy about your father demanding I finish the debriefing for the exercise just to keep me there with you a little longer, and they were even more unhappy about my delayed arrival.” He’d been chewed on for a very long time, and for a moment, he had thought they would bust him back to captain—or lower.

“Is that where you’ve been?” He knew she hadn’t asked, and in his first angry moments after he realized that, he had assumed it meant she didn’t care. When he had had time to reflect, he had understood Riah hadn’t asked because she had known she wouldn’t be told. She had, after all, learned very young the concept that if you needed to know, someone would tell you. Asking didn’t mean you were given answers.

He told her, “More recently Iraq, and most recently with your mother in Baghdad.”

“And she’s still alive?”

Casey grinned at her incredulous tone. He nodded and added, “I think I could come to like her. At least we seem to have buried the hatchet.”

“And not in each other?” Riah asked, sounding for all the world like a woman hearing someone assert that Hell had actually frozen over.

He snorted before he confirmed, “Not in each other.”

Riah shifted against him again and looked up at him. Casey wished he had the nerve to turn on a light so he could more clearly watch her expression. He was worried that she still hadn’t said anything about what she felt or didn’t feel for him. On the one hand, she hadn’t said she didn’t love him. On the other, she hadn’t confessed that she did, and he wanted her to do one or the other. She ran her hand over his cheek again, ghosted her thumb over his lower lip in a gesture he was quite familiar with since it frequently preceded her initiating sex, and asked softly, “How long are you here?”

“Two days.” She still hadn’t said what he wanted to hear, but Casey decided he’d just have to wait. He felt a more pressing need from her, and he was willing, for the moment, to take a physical if not an emotional desire for him. He ran a finger along her jaw, and he decided to tell her why, knew full well Beckman would have his head if she ever found out he’d told Riah where he was going. He refused to start over, if that’s what they were doing, without honesty between them. “We’ve got two days, and then I have to report back to D.C. They’re sending me to Gaza before New Year’s. After that, I’ll request I be reassigned here—but only if you want me.” He held his breath, hoped like hell this wasn’t where she told him she didn’t want him after all.

He sagged, relieved, when she breathed, “I want you.”

It would do for a start, he thought, taking her mouth hungrily. She tore at the buttons on his shirt while he stripped her t-shirt and flannel pants from her. God, he had missed her. He had missed the way she felt, the way she touched him. He had missed the slide of her skin against his, the taste of her. He missed the sounds she made as he touched her, and he missed the intricate battle to urgently touch one another with hands and mouth. He nearly fell off the couch when she fumbled at his belt, though he tried to make enough room to let her work. Casey finally pushed her hands away and stood long enough to get rid of the rest of his clothes before he rejoined her, rolled her beneath him and reclaimed her mouth.

Riah’s hands roamed over his body, found and grasped him, and he wondered vaguely if he should stop her before he was useless to her. For his part, he ran his mouth, his tongue over her exposed skin, found her nipple and felt a primitive pride at the keening, wanting moan that escaped her as she arched up into him. Casey had missed that sound, missed the way her body reacted to stimuli, and it felt so very, very good to stimulate her. She dragged his mouth back to hers, plundered it and ran her hands over his own body impatiently. She was ready for him, he was more than ready for her, and when he entered her, her hips rose to meet him. It was hard and fast and hungry, so it wasn’t long before Riah flew apart and took him with her.

Casey came around enough to realize he had to be crushing her into the sofa cushions. He murmured something even he wasn’t sure of and rolled off her so that his back was against the sofa’s before he pulled her against him. He claimed her mouth again, more gently this time. Riah’s answering kiss was sleepy. “I like the way you apologize,” she murmured, stroking a hand up his chest. “You don’t happen to have anything else you need to confess?”

A grunt of a laugh escaped him. He sincerely hoped her comment meant she was going to forgive him after all. “I could probably come up with something,” Casey admitted, pressed a kiss against her forehead as tiredness washed over him, “but I think I need a little sleep first.”

He felt her mouth curve against his shoulder. “There are two perfectly good beds upstairs.”

“Later,” he said softly, completely aware that there were two beds upstairs but unwilling to say he was afraid she might change her mind if he had to let her go long enough to go to either of them. That, and several days with little sleep were finally catching up to him.

 

Casey woke up disoriented, but it didn’t take him long to realize where he was. He had a moment where he regretted not moving Riah upstairs as his muscles protested when he moved to ease his cramped position. There was faint light coming in the window as he gently rolled Riah enough away that he could easily reach her mouth. He kissed her softly, and she moved against him as she began to wake. _There it was_ , he thought as he nipped his way down her throat, that hungry little moan she often made as he made love to her. Her hands stroked over his shoulders as he started to kiss his way up the other side of her neck. She grabbed him, pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him absolutely senseless. Her naked body wrapped around his had only a little to do with that, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain.

She started pushing and pulling at him. Casey knew it was in his best interest to cooperate, so he let her roll him on his back and helped her seat herself over him. He clung to her hips as she rode him, and he helped her maintain the rhythm until her muscles spasmed around him and led to his own set of spasms. Riah collapsed on top of him and made that contented little purr he had missed so much. She stretched out along him and dropped off to sleep again. Casey kissed the top of her head, thought about moving her, but finally decided to just leave her as she was. There was a blanket near their feet that had covered them when he woke, so he worked it up to where he could get a hold of it and cover them again before he dropped off himself.

 

The next time he woke, it was because he heard the Moron and the Bearded Troll outside the open window. Bartowski and Grimes were going on about turkey, the amount of leftovers probable from the size of the turkey and the number of guests Ellie had invited, and what the possible number of sandwich combinations were from the condiments and other options available in Ellie’s fridge. On the one hand, it irritated Casey to be awakened by this conversation. On the other, he had a moment of fondness due mainly to being home and due in part to having Riah naked and draped over him.

She moved restlessly, shifted her weight on him and crooked a leg so that her foot ran up his shin. He ran a hand along her spine, stroked over her skin, and when she made a faint sound, he asked, “You ‘wake?”

“Do I have to be?” she mumbled, and he laughed.

“Not especially,” he conceded, “but I think I’d like to trade the couch for the bed now.” A few hours on his back without good support and the added weight of Riah meant his back was killing him.

She stretched, and her body rubbed against his as she yawned. “Not sure I want to move.”

Someone pounded on the door, and Riah moaned. Casey was disgustingly pleased to note it was a moan of frustration. He heard Chuck’s voice on the other side of the door and whispered, “Ignore him.”

Riah squinted at the clock and started to slide off of him. For his part, Casey tried to impede her by rolling her toward the back of the sofa, but she simply climbed over him. “I’m late,” she mumbled, stood, and searched the room. He watched her look at where their scattered clothes had landed the night before. It amused him when she finally picked up the black shirt he’d been wearing and shrugged it on, buttoned it as she walked toward the door.

Riah looked like she had spent the night doing exactly what they had done, he noted with a pleased grin. Her hair was tousled and tangled, and when she looked over her shoulder at him as she reached his luggage, her mouth was swollen. Part of him wondered what would happen when she opened that door.

To his satisfaction, the sight of her in nothing but Casey’s shirt killed whatever Chuck Bartowski had been about to say. The younger man’s eyes darted over to where Casey lay on the couch. When it was apparent she intended to answer the door, Casey made sure he was covered. No need to offend Bartowski’s sensibilities when she pulled open the door.

There was something oddly gratifying about the way Chuck said, “You’re back!” when he saw Casey. The kid grinned at Riah. “He’s back!”

She nodded and waved a hand at the room in general. Chuck stepped inside, and she shut the door behind him. Casey sat up as Chuck entered, and he could tell Bartowski wanted to ask where he’d been and what he’d been doing. Apparently he’d learned a thing or two while Casey had been gone since Bartowski didn’t ask. What he said was, “Mariah said they called you back.”

He nodded at the kid. “I didn’t have a chance to say good bye, Chuck.” There was an edge of sarcasm behind his words, not least because Casey had enjoyed having a naked Riah in his arms and now she stood by the door dressed in his shirt while he remained alone on the couch. It seemed grossly unfair in Casey’s book. As far as he was concerned, Chuck belonged on the other side of the door and Riah belonged right where she had been before Bartowski knocked.

“So you got to come home for the holidays?” Chuck asked.

Casey nodded once more. “I’m only here a couple of days.”

Chuck’s face fell at those words. “You’re not coming back.”

“Not just yet, Bartowski.” Casey scratched absently at his chest. “I have to go back overseas for a while.”

The kid gave him that incandescent smile of his and said, “So you are coming back, then?”

Casey looked at Riah. She had schooled her features so that her face was an empty blank. He hated that look. He told Chuck, watching Riah as he spoke, “If Beckman lets me.” Riah, he realized still hadn’t said how she felt about him and his reappearance. It occurred to him then that she might just like the sex and not him. “If Riah lets me.” The facade cracked, and she gave Casey a smile every bit as sunny as Chuck’s. She still had not said the words, but Casey thought he might get them out of her yet.

Chuck seemed to remember what he had come over for then. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, turning to Riah. “Ellie said to tell you that we’re pushing dinner back to five so that Sarah can get back from visiting her dad—of course, Ellie doesn’t know that’s what she’s going to do because, well, that would be a little too hard to explain—“ and Casey’s lips twitched. Bartowski had never mastered the short answer. As Riah looked across at him, Casey could tell she was thinking much the same thing. He tuned in to the rest of Chuck’s response to hear, “. . . and, well, she said to tell you that she won’t need you until about one this afternoon.”

For Casey, that was good news. He had Riah to himself for a few more hours.

For her part, Riah gave Chuck a gentle smile. “Tell her I’ll be there.”

Chuck pursed his lips before jabbing a finger in an awkward point at Casey, who waited to see where Bartowski would go next. “Maybe you . . . and Casey . . . would . . . like to . . . would rather . . . .”

“Tell Ellie I’ll come help with dinner,” Riah said firmly.

“Right. I’ll just, um, leave you two.”

He waited until Riah had let Chuck out and closed the door behind him before he told her, “Casey would like to—would rather several things.” He shoved the blanket aside and crossed the room to where she still stood beside the door. He had her against the door and used one hand to undo the buttons on his shirt. Riah clung to him, mouth, hands, arms, and when he shoved the shirt off her, she wound herself around him once more. Casey lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he fixed his mouth to hers and started up the stairs.


	13. Chapter 13

Riah kept running her hands over him. Casey tried to stay awake, but it felt good to be in his own bed, especially since she was in it with him, and she’d worn him out after he took her upstairs to bed. She fingered a small scar on his shoulder, a puncture wound he’d picked up in Iraq when he’d been shoved against a protruding piece of steel during an altercation. Riah didn’t need to know the exact circumstances because she would only worry.

She ran light fingers along the more serious injury. He’d received the four-inch scar near his hipbone in a knife fight with a Taliban fighter. It had been deep and ugly, and it had become infected before it healed. He did tell her how he got that one, but he didn’t elaborate. He felt her move, slide down his side, and then he felt her lips against it. If he hadn’t been on the edge of sleep, he probably would have made a crack about wishing she’d been there to kiss it better when it happened. He sucked in a ragged breath when her lips were followed by the wet warmth of her tongue. She smiled against his skin and her mouth began a lazy migration. Casey pulled her back up before she could drift any further southwest, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her. “Tired,” he grumbled, “but hold that thought,” and slipped off to sleep.

 

He heard music, something he didn’t recognize, so he frowned, tried to figure out where it came from. Riah started to push away from him, but he reflexively tightened his arms. He realized it was her cellphone and mumbled, “Don’t answer.”

“It’s Emma,” she explained. Casey loosened his grip to let her roll enough to pick the phone up from the bedside table behind her. He owed her sister, he thought, and shifted a little as Riah lay on her side facing him and said hello. The sheet slipped. He came more awake. Her bare breast looked incredibly inviting.

“Mum cooks fine,” Riah told her sister as he rolled over and opened his mouth to taste her nipple. Riah sucked in a ragged breath.

“What was that sound?” he heard Emma ask suspiciously.

Casey smiled against her breast. “Nothing,” Riah gasped. He licked and then began kissing his way down the slope of her breast and up her sternum. He worked his way to the join of her shoulder and neck while Riah’s eyes drifted closed as she tilted her head to give him greater access. Emma said something about Riah being alone for Christmas, and he flashed Riah a grin before he started kissing his way slowly up her neck. Emma, he suspected, was fishing to see if he’d actually shown up. Riah hissed softly before she told her sister, “I’m fine, Emma.”

He rolled them so that she was on her back while he lay over her, supported his weight on his elbows as he kissed along the underside of her jaw. He worked his way toward Riah’s mouth. He heard Emma ask, “Mariah, is someone there with you?”

Knowing he wouldn’t have Riah’s full attention until the call was over, he took the phone and said, “Merry Christmas, Emma.”

There was a split second of silence before Riah’s sister asked incredulously, “Casey?” She shouldn’t have been so surprised, he reflected, since he had talked to her the day before to see if Riah was still in Los Angeles or had gone home. She’d known he intended to visit her sister—or at least she should have.

“Your sister is busy,” he replied, looking down at Riah. Her skin was slightly flushed, and she had that look she got when he loved her, heavy-lidded, hungry. He was hungry himself. “Can she call you back later?” He didn’t wait for her to reply before he hung up and took Riah’s mouth. It rang again, a different song this time, so he warned her, his mouth still on hers, “Don’t answer it.”

Riah let him go long enough to turn the phone off before she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

 

Around noon, Casey tried to convince her not to get out of bed, but when that failed, when she insisted she had to go help Ellie with dinner, he followed her into the shower. He tried to persuade her physically, but she gave him a look he recognized, one that told him she was onto him and wouldn’t give in. Faced with her stubborn determination, he backed down. As he soaped her, he asked, “Do you think Ellie will invite me to dinner?”

Riah turned to face him, her soap-slick skin slid along his as she leaned into him, and murmured, “If she doesn’t, we’ll come home, and I’ll find us something to eat.”

“Call her and tell her your plans changed,” he countered against her mouth. Ellie wouldn’t begrudge them the time together, he knew, especially since he was certain her brother had already told her Casey was home.

Riah looked up at him. “I promised.” That look she gave him held another kind of promise, so he decided not to protest further, especially when she raised a brow and planted her mouth over his heart and began working lower. _Appeasement_ , he thought fondly, was her favorite word when one of them disappointed the other, and damn, he was really going to have to find a way to thank her aunt for that sex book, he decided just before his brain washed out his ears and down the drain.

 

Casey went downstairs to get his bags while she brushed her teeth and dried her hair. He took his turn while she dressed, and when he entered their bedroom wearing the trousers to his suit and a clean shirt, he found she had dressed in a pair of tailored trousers the same color as the tobacco in a Costa Gravan Double Corona and a tailored white shirt. He looked at the sharply pointed toes of her brown suede boots and wondered if they were supposed to be weapons. She gave him an amused grin before turning to root through her jewelry box.

 _One down_ , he thought as he turned to rummage in his smaller bag for the package with the earrings and pendant. Once he found them, Casey crossed to stand behind her. He stopped her sorting hands and turned Riah to face him. He had a moment’s misgiving. She claimed she didn’t like diamonds, so perhaps he shouldn’t offer them to her after all.

Riah frowned at him as he stood there, the package at his side. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I bought you these in Antwerp about a month and a half ago,” he explained. Casey could feel a dull flush run up his face. Puzzled, Mariah studied him. Instead of explaining, he handed her the flat, rectangular box. The bow was crushed and misshapen, and the gold foil paper covering the corners of the package had worn a little thin from having been dragged from place to place in his bags for the better part of two months.

There was a moment where he regretted giving it to her when her face went crimson, and she looked upset. “I didn’t—“

Once he realized Riah was embarrassed because she had nothing to give him in return, he felt relieved. “I never expected a gift from you. If it helps, I didn’t buy this as a Christmas present.” He looked down at her hands. “Go ahead. Open it.”

He was pretty sure she recognized it as a jewelry box. That didn’t stop her from turning the package over and examining it, though. “You shouldn’t have.”

Casey started to get a little pissed off by her apparent reluctance to accept it. “I wanted to,” he told her, probably a little more gruffly than he probably should have from her slight flinch.

Her fingers shook as she started to pick one end of the package open. There was a moment when Casey thought about her taunt about his lack of patience opening presents. It occurred to him that Riah had too much patience as he watched her slowly draw the box from inside the paper. He took the paper from her, crumpled it in his hand. When she lifted the lid, he took the outer box from her as well, and he watched as she slowly lifted the hinged lid on the black leather box inside to stare at the contents. She shot him a look he couldn’t quite read. Casey was irritated when he felt compelled to explain, “I know what you said, but I thought—“

“They’re beautiful,” she breathed as she touched one of the earrings with her index finger, and then she reached up for him, wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. He kissed her back, glad she didn’t repeat what she had said in Banff. Riah put the box down and loosened the earrings from their slots before she threaded them into her earlobes. When she lifted the pendant, Casey took it and fastened it around her neck. She held her hair out of the way, and after he had the catch safely closed, he kissed her nape and then the spot beneath her ear. She touched the pendant, smiled, then turned around, put her arms around him and kissed him again. “Thank you,” she whispered, “but you really shouldn’t have.”

“Just shut up and wear them,” Casey growled against her mouth, pleased she had liked them after all.

Riah’s hand crept into his as they walked across the courtyard to the Bartowskis’ apartment. Ellie gave him a warm welcome—which meant she squealed when she saw him and then hugged him tightly. Since he was happy to be home with Riah—despite not having been able to convince her to stay in bed instead of dressing and crossing the courtyard—he didn’t protest or make a face when Ellie squeezed the life out of him. When Woodcomb approached him, he quickly thrust his hand out to avoid a man hug. Casey caught Riah’s amused expression as Ellie’s fiancé pumped his hand.

Grimes asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be in uniform?”

For Ellie’s sake, Casey restricted himself to a heated glare. “I’m on leave,” he growled.

Riah followed Ellie into the kitchen while Casey found himself trapped in the living room with Woodcomb, Grimes, and Bartowski. He told himself he could put up with it for one afternoon and evening, that Riah wouldn’t be happy if he killed one of them, and as long as Bartowski was still useful, Beckman wouldn’t let him kill the kid. As a result, Casey spoke when spoken to, but he didn’t initiate conversation. Most of the questions he was asked about Afghanistan he was surprised to realize he could answer without jeopardizing national security, so he did so.

Eventually, Grimes asked, “So what’s your rank anyway?” He could tell the weasel expected him to be some sort of enlisted man or non-com, so Casey took pleasure in saying, “Major.” Grimes choked on his beer. Casey ignored the manchild’s follow up questions about what he had been doing there and wished he’d skipped this instead of following Riah over to the Bartowski’s.

When Walker finally turned up midafternoon, it was obvious to Casey that she wasn’t surprised to see him. He figured Bartowski had let her know he was home, had probably called her the second he left Riah and Casey alone in their apartment early that morning. A while later, he said quietly in Chuck’s ear, “Take Walker into your room. We need to talk.”

He gave his partner and Bartowski a few minutes before he followed them. As he softly closed the door, he gave the CIA officer a nod and said, “Walker. Catch me up.”

She did, considerably more efficiently than Bartowski would have done. It occurred to him that he should have been able to ask Riah, but then it dawned on him that she seemed curiously absent from Walker’s rundown. Beckman must have decided to cut the Canadians out of the picture, which had probably infuriated Riah’s father. Although, he supposed, Riah’s miscarriage, her time back in Canada, and her shooting could account for her exclusion from Intersect missions.

After Walker finished, he said, “Tell me about the new guy.” Riah had said she didn’t like him, and certainly she had had good reasons based on what she told him while she was heavily sedated. She had never given him a name. Casey wanted to know if whoever the little weasel was had trespassed. After all, Riah told him the man had hit on her, and Casey wanted to know if he might have to hit the other man right back—in a very painful kind of way.

Bartowski and Walker gave each other one of those stares that meant something in nonverbal cover-relationship speak while Casey waited impatiently for one of them to answer his question. The longer he waited, the more certain he was the answer was going to make him feel like doing more than hitting something—or someone. “Robert Kavanaugh,” Walker finally said.

Casey killed the instinctive groan. He knew the little bastard. Kavanaugh was one of those all-American spies, handsome, blond, blue-eyed, charming—provided one considered smarmy, insincere flattery and what some women apparently thought was a winning smile charming. He was also a fuck-up. Kavanaugh was well-trained, generally got things done, but he made trouble on the job. He couldn’t stay focused on the goal, especially not with an attractive woman around. There had been at least two harassment inquiries involving Kavanaugh, though rumor had it that number should have been considerably higher. Apparently, only two women had had the guts to try and officially do something about the jackass. Casey was dead certain that if Kavanaugh had made Walker rather than Riah his target it would be three—assuming Walker didn’t just make him the victim of friendly fire.

“You know, Casey,” Walker drawled, folded her arms over her stomach and got that hard look she normally aimed at her next target, “you’re not a part of this anymore.”

That stung. It was true, but it still smarted, and he resented the implication in that look—that he had run out on them. Casey was right back to being the fat kid. “I plan to be as soon as I finish the next little gig for Beckman,” he said. He gave her a meaningful look of his own. “Unless you’d prefer to keep Kavanaugh?”

Walker’s mouth compressed in distaste, but it was Bartowski who said, “No! No, Casey. We want you back. The old team, you know?”

They left Chuck’s room, Casey in front. He saw Kavanaugh make a beeline for Riah in the kitchen. The other man trapped her where the counters met on the far end near the stove. Casey watched Riah try unsuccessfully to evade being cornered and tightened his jaw at her obvious panic. Ellie had tried to intercept Kavanaugh, but the other man had closed in on his target and managed to get past the female Bartowski. Casey’s fist folded in on itself as he stalked toward them. He couldn’t punch the bastard, not in front of Ellie and especially not in her kitchen, but he desperately wanted to.

As he reached the archway, Ellie grabbed him and pulled him inside the confined space. “John, this is our neighbor, Tom Baker. Tom, this is John Casey, Mariah’s boyfriend. He’s home on leave.”

Casey stepped forward and took Riah gently by the arm. He gave Kavanaugh a hard enough glare the other man stepped aside so Casey could draw Riah to his side. He kept his eyes locked on the other man while he wrapped an arm around Riah’s waist and said, “Baker,” as blandly as he could, though he made sure he layered a hint of menace underneath the alias so the little prick knew that while Casey would make nice for Ellie’s sake, he wasn’t going to let him near Riah, who leaned into Casey and relaxed a bit.

Kavanaugh eyed them. “Casey.” The jackass’s face took on a knowing smirk, and Casey really hoped the weasel gave him an excuse to pound him to a pulp. He would have to wait out dinner because Ellie would never forgive him for half killing a man in her kitchen. “It’s nice to finally meet the man Mariah claims could kill me with a thumb.”

He couldn’t help the snort. Casey could just imagine Riah threatening the other man with him. “For Riah to have said that, you must have been doing something you shouldn’t.”

“I was just talking to her,” Kavanaugh said.

I’ll bet, Casey thought and set his jaw. He planned to troll through some surveillance before he left, see exactly what the little pissant had been up to.

“She’s a loyal little lady.”

His eyes narrowed, suspicious of Kavanaugh’s bland compliment. He couldn’t explain it except for his innate dislike and distrust of the man. He suspected it was a ploy on the other man’s part, but if Kavanaugh’s intent was to sow distrust where Riah was concerned, it wouldn’t work. She had given Casey no real reason to lose faith in her. “Yes, she is,” he agreed softly.

Kavanaugh’s next words proved he shouldn’t have trusted the man to play nicely, not even for Ellie’s sake. “Well, Mariah,” the little bastard said with a look that quickly slid to smirking juvenile, “I suppose you’ll be pregnant again soon.”

Riah went rigid. Casey’s grip on her tightened. He was going to kill Kavanaugh for doing this to her. He’d dismember the man alive for that remark, especially since the other man had unerringly gone for what had to be one of Riah’s deepest wounds, not to mention Casey’s. It was a private matter, and Kavanaugh had just dragged it into the open—and done so before Casey and Riah had had a chance to talk about it.

He was momentarily distracted from homicidal thoughts by the soft, dry sound made when Ellie dropped the bread basket. She had obviously only heard the one word. Her brown eyes were wide. “Pregnant?” she squeaked. She looked at Riah. “You’re . . . .” Her shocked gaze went from Riah to Casey and back again, while Casey dreaded having to tell her the truth. They would have to tell her the truth because Riah was clearly not five or more months pregnant, and he was certain Bartowski’s sister knew exactly how long he had been gone. Ellie went pale, her face horrified when she did realized exactly that.

Casey wondered how Kavanaugh had known Riah had been pregnant. He knew Beckman knew, but he was pretty sure the General wouldn’t have told the idiot wearing the superior look standing in front of him. From the awkward, stifling silence, he was pretty sure Riah had told no one about the baby.

Then it hit him: the apartment surveillance was still in place, surveillance Kavanaugh had clearly been watching. Casey’s eyes narrowed on the younger man, who suddenly realized his own danger. Casey suspected the weasel had seen more than he should, had been watching Riah because he chose to, and if he’d expanded the coverage in their apartment to see her more private moments, Casey would take great pleasure in ending the little bastard. Beckman wouldn’t find so much as a single cell to test for DNA.

“Oh,” Ellie said quietly. “Oh.” There was a lull in conversation in the living room, and all Casey needed was for the male Bartowski to start in. Ellie, though, recovered, said, “If you two,” she pointed at him and Kavanaugh, “would get out of here, Mariah and I could finish dinner.” She bustled Kavanaugh out and followed him, gave Casey a sympathetic look as she lightly touched his arm when she passed by him.

Riah’s face was tight and pale. Casey he swallowed thickly as he looked at the pain etched there. “John—“ she started softly.

Casey leaned down and kissed her, stopped the words that were no one else’s business. He didn’t want to have this discussion where others could hear. This should be between just the two of them. “Later, Riah, when we’re alone.” He pulled her a little closer, tried to reassure her he wasn’t angry, at least not with her and not about Kavanaugh’s cruel little jab. Well, he was angry about Kavanaugh and the other man having made something so personal public, but this wasn’t the time or the place.

When Ellie re-entered the kitchen, he kissed Riah once more before he released her and walked out to the living room. He’d run the gauntlet there if he had to.

Two things were immediately clear when he stepped into the living room: Bartowski, at least, had known, and the others had overheard Kavanaugh’s remark. He lifted his chin, narrowed his eyes, and silently dared someone to say something. Woodcomb quickly started a conversation with Anna Wu that soon drew the others in. Bartowski, though, moved next to Casey and said very softly, “She didn’t want to tell anyone until she could tell you.”

“Then how did you find out?” he asked bitterly, though Chuck’s words provided a little comfort.

“She was really sick. I just—I found out by accident.” Bartowski put a hand on Casey’s shoulder, but for once he didn’t growl at or threaten the younger man. “She was scared, Casey.”

“Change the subject, Chuck,” he ground out softly.

Grimes said something to Bartowski then, so the younger man walked over and joined the conversation. When Casey looked over to the kitchen, neither Riah nor Ellie was in sight, which concerned him. He was about to go looking for them, worried about Riah, when he heard a door open, heard Ellie’s voice. Both women looked like they had been crying, and Casey set his jaw.

He endured more chatter from the assembled morons until Ellie called them all to the table. He was relieved to be seated between Riah and Ellie and opposite the corner where Ellie had squeezed in Kavanaugh. The other man liked to poke wounded animals, but if he dared taunt Riah further, Casey would drag him out and finish him.

As dinner progressed, Casey watched Riah. She wasn’t eating much, and he’d long ago learned that usually meant she was upset, though her face didn’t show it. He wasn’t very hungry himself, but he dutifully ate. He almost missed it because Walker said something to him, but an odd flicker of emotion crossed Riah’s face. He slid his hand into her lap and grasped hers as he answered Walker. He turned to Riah when he finished. She smiled at him, really smiled at him. Without thinking, he leaned in to kiss her. Riah kissed him back, and the sound of Bartowski and Morgan Grimes choking reminded him they were not alone.

“Get a room,” Grimes groaned. That made Riah laugh.

Ellie looked appalled, but Riah reassured her, “He’s told us that before.” Casey grinned, remembered the night he’d kissed her in the courtyard after they had dealt with Baines. It was the first time he’d kissed her without it being explicitly for the cover.

“No one expects to see porn practically on the front doorstep,” Grimes explained, his voice tinged with disgust.

“If you weren’t such a little pervert,” Casey told him with only a hint of his usual, quiet menace, “you’d know it’s normal for people in love to kiss one another.”

“Yeah, but late at night in front of God, me and anybody who happens by, especially coupled with what was obviously an attempt to get Mariah naked, is a little more than anyone ought to have to see in a public space.”

Bartowski looked at them with raised eyebrows and an expression that straddled the line between fascination and horror.

Kavanaugh said then, “I would have thought, Morgan, you’d be all for the getting Mariah naked part.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Grimes said defensively, “if it didn’t involve Mariah trying to get Casey naked, too.”

Anna gave Morgan a glare that should have set his beard on fire as she bit out, “Some of us would prefer seeing Casey naked.”

Casey’s lips twitched, and Riah gave his hand a warning squeeze. It was Bartowski, though, who said, “I would really, really, like to not talk about people sitting at this table being naked right now.”

Woodcomb raised his brows and said, “Right you are, bro,” before he turned to Casey to ask, “You and Mariah have plans for your leave?”

He raised his own brows, unable to resist needling Bartowski a little. “You mean other than repeatedly getting Riah naked?” Chuck spluttered while Riah snorted. Walker tried to hide a grin, and even Ellie seemed to have given up on the idea of a normal dinner conversation. Grimes seemed to be actively trying to imagine that, and Kavanaugh looked both very interested in what Casey had to say and as if he were calculating odds on whether he could say something vicious that would seem innocent. Anna just glared at Morgan’s slack-jawed look. Woodcomb looked a little taken aback. Casey lifted his fork, said, “No, we don’t have any plans exactly.”

Riah leaned around him to ask Ellie, “Did you and Honey finally sort out what flowers to use for the wedding?”

Ellie grasped the subject happily and launched into an explanation. Casey leaned in when Walker picked up the theme to tell Riah quietly, “You’re diabolical.” She rewarded him with an unrepentant grin. Every other man around the table devoted himself to food in the face of wedding talk.

When dinner was over, Casey offered to help clear the table, but Ellie shooed him away with everyone else. He took a corner of the couch where he sat angled so he could watch Riah come and go as she helped Ellie. When the two women joined the rest of them, Casey took Riah’s hand and drew her down into his lap, which was about the only seating space left. He wrapped an arm around Riah’s waist, pleased when one of hers slid across his shoulders.

It was odd. Normally he would be calculating how quickly he could get them out of there, but this time he had an unusual desire to linger. Maybe it was because he could have been with his mother and sisters, their husbands and children, or maybe it was because it delayed the inevitable conversation he and Riah needed to have. Maybe it was simply that he had come to genuinely like some of the people gathered in the Bartowskis’ living room, but whatever it was, he was content to hold Riah on his lap and listen to the conversation around them.

“So, John,” Ellie said, leaning into Woodcomb, “how long is your leave?”

“Two days,” he said. Ellie made a face.

“I’m surprised you bothered to come at all for that,” Kavanaugh said.

Seated in his lap, Riah was nearly on eye-level with him. Content to play the role, Casey looked into her face and felt a faint smile cross his own. “I had something worth coming home for, no matter how little time there is.”

Riah returned his smile and wound her arms around him and kissed him. Casey was more than happy to slide his arms around her and return the kiss, audience or not.

After their lips parted, with no juvenile comments from Grimes this time, Ellie said, “I saw Mariah’s new earrings and necklace, John. I don’t suppose there’s another diamond for her?”

Casey was not about to answer that question, not until he and Riah had a chance to talk. He had come back to ask her to marry him, but they had a lot more to discuss before he could get to that. Even if they didn’t, he wasn’t about to essentially admit that was the plan with an avid audience watching. Riah looked embarrassed, but Casey wasn’t in the least. He wasn’t ashamed of what he felt for her, but he wasn’t ready to publicly declare his intentions, either. That was for Riah and Riah alone.

He owed Bartowski for asking his sister if there was any pie left, which successfully distracted Ellie from her own question when three of the remaining four men in the room followed her into the kitchen. Casey stayed where he was, holding Riah, which, he had to admit, was a pretty good place to be.

Bed would be better, but this was perfectly fine.

When Anna and Morgan left about half an hour later, he let Riah slide out of his lap onto the couch beside him. She leaned against him as he put an arm across her shoulders. Kavanaugh was the next casualty, which left them with the people Casey actually liked—if he didn’t count Woodcomb who simply made him twitchy. Shortly afterward, Riah looked up at him, and he decided it was time to take her home. He stood and took Riah’s hands to help her to her feet. Ellie, for once, didn’t protest, instead she hugged both of them and let them go. Once they were outside, he took Riah’s hand and led her to their apartment.

Riah moved slowly, so he shortened his strides for her. He looked down at her pinched face and wondered if she was afraid of him. She had never been so before, so he decided she was simply afraid of the conversation ahead of them. He thought about that as he relocked the door and set the alarm. Maybe he should rethink the order of his agenda. He took her hand again and led her upstairs to their room.

After Casey tugged her into their bedroom, he took Riah by her shoulders, turned her to face him. “John—“ she began, but he used his mouth to stop whatever she had been about to say.

“Wait,” he whispered. He had thought long and hard about how he would do this, but her miserable expression convinced him that waiting to make it just right was less important than letting her know how he felt. He ducked down to look her in the eyes, silently begged her to trust him.

Casey put his hands on her waist and then knelt in front of her. He’d once sworn he would never bend his knee to anyone, but he pushed that thought out as he reminded himself that this wasn’t the romantic proposal he had intended, so a little bit of tradition wouldn’t kill him—his knees, maybe, but not him.

For a moment, he acknowledged that this was the second time in his life he’d done this, and for the second time, his plans fell through—this time by choice, at least. He felt Riah tremble, and her hands shook as she rested them on his shoulders. He pushed Kathleen and what had never been back behind the tightly sealed door he’d built and breathed deeply in.

Casey’s mouth went dry when he looked up at Riah. She looked scared, but there was something else lurking in eyes gone dark blue: anticipation. That look of frightened hope made it easier to begin. “This isn’t exactly where I intended to do this or when,” he admitted, “but I think this might be a good time.”

Riah’s voice shook when she said his name. He stopped the rest of what she might have to say by wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her firmly against him. He tilted his head back to look up at her. He’d had a fancy speech prepared, but it went entirely out of his head as he stared into her guarded eyes. Because the occasion seemed to call for a bit more formality, he used her full name. “Mariah, hear me out,” he said before plunging right in. “I had leave once before, but I didn’t know what to say to you, so I stayed where I was.”

He paused, thought this wasn’t the way to tell a woman he loved her, but he needed her to understand that he was an idiot who had taken a while to figure things out, so he plunged on. “I went in a pub one night, and there was this woman. She was as different from you as it’s possible to be, and—“ he paused once more, watched her go pale, watched her face tighten then flush, and thought this was definitely not the way to tell her he wanted to marry her. Based on her increasingly angry expression, she would turn him down flat. He was in this far, though, so he carried on with his explanation. “I realized that night, sitting there on that bar stool, what I wanted. What I wanted, Riah, was you. As she tried to pick me up, all I could think was how much I love you.”

It was obvious she struggled to take it in, to figure out what he was trying to tell her, but at least she didn’t look pissed off anymore. He had told her the night before that he loved her, and he suddenly remembered she hadn’t returned the sentiment. He was again afraid she only wanted him as a lover, not as a husband. He looked up at her and decided he might as well find out. “Mariah, will you marry me?”

Casey had a surreal moment when he thought his heart was going to stop. Riah looked ill, looked like she was going to faint, and Casey just knew he was about to be rejected. He’d take his things and go back to his house in Maryland until he had to leave for Gaza. He would tell Beckman to send her back home to Canada. He’d take the worst assignments the General could find for him, and he’d hope like hell he could eventually get over her. He’d survived Kathleen, survived Ilsa, but he wasn’t completely sure he’d survive a third loss. Then he saw her lips move. He thought his hearing was gone, but she cupped his face in her hands and said it again, her voice strangled and barely audible: “Yes.”

He pulled her mouth down to his. All his relief went into that kiss. Even better, she kissed him back, and in that moment, he thought he could die happy. His mouth released hers, but before he could tell her to wait, she took his again.

When they came up for air, he remembered what else he needed to do, so he took his arms from around her to fish in his jacket pocket for her ring. He had taken it out of its box earlier and dropped it in his pocket thinking he’d take her somewhere they wouldn’t be interrupted when they left the Bartowskis’. “If you don’t like it, I’ll buy you something different,” he promised as he lifted her left hand and slid the ring on her finger. He pressed his mouth to her palm before releasing it. Riah lifted her hand to look at it.

She laughed. Casey enjoyed the smoldering kiss she gave him before she said, “At the risk of being branded a hypocrite, I’ll keep this one.”

He climbed slowly from his knees to pull her against him. Riah wrapped her arms around his waist and tilted her face up to his. “I love you, John.”

Casey hadn’t realized how very much he really wanted to hear her say that until then. “Finally,” he murmured just before he kissed her. All thoughts of talk left him as he set about showing her how he felt. He opened the buttons of her blouse and slid the silk slowly from her. She put her hands inside his jacket and pushed it off his shoulders. He toed his shoes off and then knelt and removed her boots, slid her pant legs up and the zippers down before lifting her feet and taking them off. She pulled his face up and traced her fingers over his cheeks before she lowered her mouth to his again.

His fingers undid her belt and the fasteners of her trousers. He slid the fabric down over her hips and thighs as her fingers started on his shirt buttons. His mouth was against her belly, and he felt her fingers slide into his hair to hold him against her. Perhaps they should talk before they did this, he thought, but she lifted his face again and slid down so she knelt in front of him. “Love me, John,” she whispered. “Right now, just love me.”

He stripped the trousers off her while she made quick work of his shirt and proceeded to removing his pants. His fingers found the front opening of her bra and had just popped it, his mouth closed over her nipple as he heard a phone ring. “Don’t answer it,” he said against her breast.

“Not mine.”

Casey recognized the sound of his own phone. He scrabbled on the floor for his jacket and fished it out. If it was Beckman, he might just quit on the spot. Instead, the display on the front showed his mother’s number.

“Mother.” He hoped he sounded normal, but then Riah’s spreading grin made him wonder what she found amusing in this situation. He had the woman he loved, the woman who miraculously loved him, nearly naked, and receiving a call from his mother was a definite mood killer.

“Johnny?”

His mother always had to confirm his identity, he thought. He would have thought that after nearly three decades of phone calls she would know his voice, especially when she had called him. “Yes,” he said, watching Riah’s face.

“I had hoped to hear I’ll finally have a daughter-in-law by now,” she said tersely.

He looked at Riah, looked at her there in front of him wearing nothing but her panties and the diamonds he had given her, and smiled. “She said yes,” he told his mother.

His mother had never been the kind of woman who squealed or shouted or showed emotion when she was happy or excited. As a result, when they were young, he and his sisters had often wondered whether or not she was truly pleased about their accomplishments. “I’m pleased to hear you haven’t proposed to a stupid woman,” she said, and he heard a note of amusement in her voice. “I wondered if you’d like to come home when you return.”

“If I can,” he agreed. He suspected he knew what was coming next.

“I don’t suppose you intend to bring your Riah back with you?”

That, he knew would depend on what Beckman had to say when he told her what he intended. “I’ll bring her with me if I can.” Riah cocked her head, frowned at him. He stood and pulled her to her feet before he wrapped his free arm around her.

“Merry Christmas, John.”

“Merry Christmas, Mom.” He shut the phone off and kissed Riah.

It was surprisingly easy to pick back up where they had left off before his mother called. They still had things to talk about, but for now he intended to give Riah what she had asked for and just love her. He did, very thoroughly, and afterward, he held her in the moonlight from the windows above the bed and decided miracles really did happen. He kissed the top of Riah’s head and hoped he never needed another where she was concerned.


	14. Chapter 14

Casey woke at dawn. Riah was still asleep, so he just lay there, held her until the sun was fully up before he covered the hand over his heart and started kissing her awake. When she mumbled something about sleeping a little longer, he told her he didn’t want to waste what time they had left. He thought about taking her somewhere where they wouldn’t be interrupted, somewhere he knew there would be no eyes or ears, but in the end, he decided to just stay where they were. She sent him to the shower while she went downstairs to make coffee. When he came down, she handed him a cup before she kissed him. He nearly followed her back upstairs, but he knew he had things to do, so he let her go alone.

First, he disconnected the apartment’s surveillance and swept for anything that might have been added after he left. When he was sure their rooms were clean, he got down to business.

Beckman was in her office, which didn’t surprise him. It did, however, surprise her that he was in Los Angeles. “I thought, Major,” she told him tartly, “that you were spending your leave with family.”

“You could say that,” Casey agreed, watched her frown. “This is a courtesy call, General.” He let that sink in a minute before he continued. “I’ve asked Mariah Adderly to marry me. She accepted. I’m not stupid enough to believe that’s all it will take, though, so consider this formal notice of my intent. I would appreciate it if you would begin the approval process.”

Beckman sat back, a sour look on her face. “Since I haven’t had a phone call, angry or otherwise, from Miss Adderly’s father, I assume neither of you have told him of your plans yet.”

“No, ma’am,” he acknowledged.

She sighed. “I suppose I should have seen this coming,” his boss mused. “You had an exemplary record until we sent her to you.”

Casey ground his teeth. He still had an exemplary record—discounting the formal reprimand over the Laurance affair and his near miss with AWOL charges after Riah’s shooting. He further resented the implication that Riah was to blame for either of those. “General Beckman,” he began, but she stopped him.

“Be careful what you say next, Casey,” she warned. “You’re still my best agent, and despite having gone soft on Operation Bartowski, I would like to keep your services if I can.”

“I intend to marry her, General,” he said. “If it means I leave the NSA, then I will.”

“No, Major Casey, that won’t be necessary, but it will mean Miss Adderly will have to leave ISI. Even then there may be other conditions. She’s a foreign national—“

“With American citizenship,” he cut in.

“—who works for a foreign agency,” she said in the tight, crisp tone of voice that prevented argument. “ISI and the Canadian government may have some roadblocks of their own.” He watched the General sit back, her mouth a grim line. “When she was assigned to you, we did a deep background check, so the more time-consuming part of the required investigation has already been done. We’ll talk about this further when we meet tomorrow. In the meantime, I suggest you inform her father.”

“Yes, General.”

She looked at him a moment. Then, she apparently relented. “I presume you booked a flight back for this evening?”

He nodded, told her he was due to leave Los Angeles in the early evening.

The General sighed once more. “I’ll arrange alternate transport, Major,” she told him, explained she would call and let him know when and where he would catch a plane. She shook her head slightly, and then she snorted a kind of sigh before she told him, “Though it may be premature, Casey, let me offer my congratulations.”

A little taken aback given her previous orders regarding Riah, he said, “Thank you, General.”

Beckman cut the connection then. Casey sat back and picked up his coffee. He had a feeling the companion discussion with Adderly wouldn’t be at all pleasant. In fact, despite their seeming détente over his relationship with the man’s daughter, Casey was fairly certain V. H. would be unhappy to say the least. Casey considered calling the other man, but then he decided to wait for Riah. It was too late to seek her father’s permission on a personal level since he’d already asked Riah and she’d said yes, so all that remained was the bureaucratic part.

He took the time to scan through the surveillance recordings that covered his absence, and he gritted his teeth at two particular interactions between Riah and Kavanaugh. He added an extra, special task to his mental list.

When she came back downstairs, Riah slid into his lap and gave him a rather thorough good morning kiss. “I thought I heard voices,” she said.

“I called Beckman,” he told her before he summarized the conversation for her. She made a face, and Casey could tell she was thinking about whether or not their governments could actually stop them from marrying.

“What happens if they won’t let us?” she asked.

He leaned in and kissed her. “I’ll retire. I have enough years in.”

She eyed him. “They don’t always let someone like you walk away, John. Sometimes they retire you with prejudice.”

Casey snorted. It was true enough, but he didn’t think it would come to that, which he told her. She didn’t look convinced, and even he had to admit he wasn’t himself. He didn’t tell her that, though.

Riah slid out of his lap and padded to the kitchen to fix them something to eat. He followed her and stood next to the stove, his hips against the counter while he watched her cook. She made his one of his favorites, a variation on Eggs Benedict without the hollandaise and Canadian bacon but with mushrooms sautéed in vermouth and covered with melted brie. When they had finished eating and cleared the table and the kitchen of dirty dishes, he put his arms around her and asked if she wanted to call her father.

“I should call Mum first,” she said. He could read reluctance on her face.

After his time with Ariel, he suspected her mother wouldn’t disapprove. Casey leaned in and kissed her, grinned and offered to hold her hand while she told her mother. He followed Riah upstairs and watched as she walked around the bed to find her phone. She had, apparently, dropped it when she’d turned it off after talking to Emma and letting the voice mail pick up the call that followed—not that he had given her much choice. She pushed the button to turn the BlackBerry on. He watched her face pale.

“What?” Casey demanded, immediately on alert. She turned the phone where he could see the call log she’d opened. There were sixteen missed calls: ten from her mother, four from her father, and two from Emma. There were voice mails for nearly every missed call. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her between his knees. “Just call them.”

She used the speed dial while he wondered who she called first. He soon had his answer when she asked, “Em?” Thinking back to his mother’s call the night before, he wondered if it was a girl thing to ask if the person you called was really who you thought it was.

The volume on her phone was set high enough and he was close enough to her he could hear Emma ask, “That was Casey, wasn’t it?”

Riah smiled at him. “Yes.”

“Well?” her sister demanded.

That smile lifted into a broad grin. “He came home for Christmas.”

“I hope he brought you a good present,” Emma told her. Casey thought it sounded like a threat.

“He did,” she assured her sister as she slid her left hand up his chest, her eyes on the diamonds set in platinum on her ring finger.

“Besides him,” he heard Emma say in exasperation.

Riah gave a very unladylike snort. “Diamonds and platinum—enough carats to keep Mum from disowning me.”

Emma squealed. Casey assumed that meant he passed the good present test. Riah’s sister quickly turned into the no-nonsense girl he was used to. “We’ve got a lot to do,” Emma said.

There was a moment when Riah looked amused by her sister getting down to business, but then her face took on an alarmed look. “Is Mum there?” Casey heard Emma said she was downstairs with Ben. Riah sagged with relief. “I haven’t told her yet,” Riah confessed.

He heard Emma laugh and then say, “I’m flattered you thought of me first, but neither of us had better ever let her know that.”

Riah laughed, too. “Mmm,” she said, “I’d like to live, thank you.”

“Okay,” Emma said. “I’m going to hang up, so you can call her. Then call me back.”

“Tomorrow, Em,” she promised.

There was a pause. “Why not today?”

“John leaves tonight.”

“Well, tell Mom quickly—and tell Casey he has to tell you goodbye.”

“What?” Casey asked as Riah frowned and disconnected the phone.

“She said to tell you that you have to tell me goodbye.”

Casey could see that troubled her, so he pulled her closer to him before he rolled them both on the bed. When they lay facing one another, he kissed her before admitting, “She made me promise when you were in the hospital that I wouldn’t leave without telling you goodbye.”

“Did you?”

“I was afraid she’d shoot me if I didn’t.”

She laughed softly at that. “Call your mother,” Casey said and then asked if she wanted him to let her have some privacy. Riah shook her head and used speed dial once more.

Ariel was on her best behavior, as far as Casey could tell. Riah watched him as she told her mother hesitantly that she had something to tell her. Ariel immediately asked what he had done to her. Riah closed her eyes while Casey assessed whether she was asking for patience or if Ariel’s question upset her. He considered taking the phone from her and giving Ariel an earful. “Nothing, Mum,” Riah replied. Then she smiled at Casey. “Actually, that’s not true.”

There was a heavy silence from Ariel’s end, one Riah let drag out a moment before saying, “John asked me to marry him, Mum. I said yes.”

“Are you happy, Mariah?” he heard her mother ask.

The smile he had seen many times in the last twenty-four hours made another appearance. “Very much so.”

“Good. Talk about dates, and then we’ll get started planning.”

The smile faded. “It isn’t going to be that simple, Mum,” she told her.

Her mother asked if Casey was with her. After Riah admitted he was, Ariel told her to use the speakerphone. “You haven’t told her father yet, have you?”

“No,” Casey said. Riah looked too stricken to say anything.

“Have you told your masters yet?”

“Yes,” Casey replied before adding, “I told my boss this morning.”

“And?”

“It’s been added to the agenda for the meeting already scheduled for tomorrow.”

“So you’re leaving again?” When he confirmed it, Ariel sighed. “Is this what married life will be like for Mariah? Waiting for you to get back from some godforsaken country with all of your appendages?”

He reminded himself that she had lived that life and come to resent it and the man who repeatedly left her. The biggest difference between him and V. H. was that he wouldn’t cheat on Riah as her father had on her mother. He could hardly tell Ariel that, though, not without it sounding like he was rubbing it in, and right now she seemed mostly on his side.

“Don’t answer that, Casey,” she said. “I’m glad you finally told her how you feel, but I think you’d better tell her father soon. He’ll see that there are no problems on their end because he will want Mariah to be happy. He might be able to smooth things over with your bosses as well.”

Casey sincerely hoped she was right about V. H. It would make this simpler if he didn’t throw up his own roadblocks. It also occurred to him that she was, for once, raising no objections. Of course, that could be because Riah was listening, so he did something he rarely did—he shared his own intentions. “For what it’s worth,” he told her, “I’ve told Riah that when this next job is finished, I will ask to be reassigned to Los Angeles.”

“Then make sure you stay alive, Casey,” she responded. “Mariah, I love you. Call me when you know whether or not you’ve got a green light. I’ll come stay, and we can talk through some preliminary plans. Casey, don’t leave without agreeing to a date.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

Riah looked shell-shocked when they had both hung up. “Wow, you two really did bury the hatchet, didn’t you?”

He laughed and kissed her. “I don’t think your mother will always make quite so nice with me. You were listening, after all.” She snorted, and he kissed her again. “Let’s go call your dad.”

She frowned and held up her phone. “Go?”

Casey took a deep breath. “I don’t think he’s going to be very happy for us, and I think we’re both going to have to talk to him. That’s easier downstairs.”

He could tell Riah didn’t agree. He knew V. H., though. The other man had been his friend, but Casey’s attachment to Riah had strained that friendship. Adderly knew he had been sleeping with Riah, had made no bones about his displeasure. Despite his apparent acceptance of the fact, Casey was under no illusions that the other man would suddenly forgive him because he was making his daughter an honest woman.

Sighing, Casey told her, “Riah, he and I have known each other for years, perhaps a little too well. I’m not the kind of man he wanted for his daughter.”

She absorbed that then gave him a solemn nod. Once they were downstairs, Casey put the call through. Through the monitor, V. H. was obviously surprised to see them sitting together. He chose to ignore Casey for the moment, though, and said to his daughter, “I tried getting you several times yesterday.”

Riah tensed beside him, so Casey slid a hand over hers, wondered why her father hadn’t tried the landline if he really wanted to talk to his daughter. “I had my phone off.”

“Not a good idea, Mariah. You know that,” her father growled.

“Dad, I need to tell you something.” When he didn’t respond, she continued, told him baldly, “John asked me to marry him.” V. H. gave Casey a look that made the phrase _evil eye_ come to mind. The tense silence stretched, and Riah’s hand trembled in his. “I said yes.”

“You know it isn’t that easy, Mariah.” He proceeded to explain to her in considerable detail about how difficult it would be for a Canadian operative to marry an American one. He told her that she would probably have to leave ISI, that Casey could be asked to leave the NSA, and that the Americans could hold up their getting married for months if not years—assuming they didn’t prevent it altogether.

When V. H. finished, an uncomfortable silence stretched. “Honey,” her father finally said, “Casey’s an old friend, but I can’t say I like the idea of you marrying him.” Casey had expected that, but he had thought Adderly might save it for a conversation that didn’t include him. “He’s too old for you, for one,” he explained, and Casey squeezed her hand to stop the objection she obviously wanted to make, letting her father finish with, “and who he is and what he does puts you at risk.”

“Dad, what you do put me at risk. What I do puts me at risk.”

“It’s not the same, Mariah, and you know it.”

It was the same, but Casey was smart enough not to say so. Riah apparently was as well.

“So it doesn’t matter that I love him?”

“Mariah,” V. H. said heavily, “you’ve been in the business long enough to know that what you think and feel doesn’t matter.” He changed tack then. “Have either of you talked to Diane?”

Casey cleared his throat. “Earlier this morning.”

“And?”

He shook his head. “I have to return to Washington tomorrow for a briefing. We’ll discuss it further then.” He paused. “I asked General Beckman to begin the process on our end.” Casey breathed in and continued, “I told Riah you wouldn’t be happy about this, that I’m not the kind of man you want for her, but I do love her and I will do whatever it takes to make her happy.”

They stared at one another a moment. Casey resisted the urge to flinch from Adderly’s stony stare.

“Mariah?” her father asked tightly.

“Dad, I love him.” He could tell from how her father’s expression wavered a moment that the other man heard the tears in her voice.

“If he makes you happy,” V. H. sighed.

“He does, Dad” she assured him.

“Okay. I’ll start the process on this end.” He looked at Casey again. “I’ll talk to Diane, and we’ll start the negotiations, _but,_ ” he warned, “that doesn’t mean, Mariah, that this will happen, so don’t let your mother make too many plans.” He gave a wry grin then. “And try to keep the costs down a bit. Your mother may be a multi-millionaire, but I’m not.”

That made Riah laugh. “I love you, Dad.”

Casey pulled her against him when the connection died. “He’s right, you know.”

“I don’t care,” she whispered. “You asked, and that’s enough for me.”

He realized then that she really didn’t know how this worked, and that surprised him. Surely ISI, like most agencies, taught their operatives what would happen when they dated—or wanted to marry. Their agencies thoroughly investigated the other person, looked for national security threats, but, more importantly, looked for threats to the agency or agencies in question. In the end, whatever their agencies decided, they would have to comply. He looped his arms around her and said quietly, “I don’t think you understand what happens if they say no.”

She frowned, shrugged. “So we just live together.”

He shook his head. “No, Riah, we don’t. If they say we can’t get married, what they really mean is that we have to go our separate ways.”

She looked stricken, and for a split second, he wished he had said nothing to her, had just let her think what she wanted until they had an answer. “I have American citizenship,” she whispered.

“That will help,” he assured her, “but it’s your ISI affiliation that will be the problem.”

“I’ve worked with you, with Sarah Walker, for nearly a year. I’ve never betrayed anything I learned here, not about you, not about Walker, not about Chuck.”

“I know, Riah,” he told her.

“I never will,” she continued.

“I know,” he repeated. Beckman knew it, too, and he hoped it would be enough. He needed to distract her, so he said, “Come on.” He pulled her up the stairs behind him. In their room, he turned her to face him. “We don’t have much longer, Riah. I leave tonight, and we still have a lot to talk about. Here, or somewhere else?”

He read in her face that she knew what they would discuss. “Here,” she whispered.

Casey stacked the pillows against the headboard then sat, leaned back against them and pulled Riah onto the bed with him. She rolled on her side when he put his arms around her. “Tell me,” he ordered softly.

She did so in fits and starts while he listened patiently, only spoke when she seemed to get lost or stalled. Riah told him about being sick, about how the smell of things made her vomit. She explained that she finally figured it out and took a pregnancy test. She told him about calling her aunt, and about her mother’s reaction. Casey thought he’d put up with anything Ariel threw at him in future for the unquestioning support she’d given her daughter—especially since she hadn’t taken the opportunity to drive a wedge between them. Riah repeated her conversation with Beckman, told him about her belief she was bribed with fuller inclusion in the Intersect project to buy her silence and make sure she didn’t tell him. That didn’t surprise Casey, sounded like something Beckman would do, especially since she really didn’t expand Riah’s role, apparently, but it pissed him off.

Riah stopped then. Throughout her recitation, she had stared at his chest. He wondered if she was afraid to look at him, afraid of his reaction to what she told him. Casey ran a hand up her arm when she shivered, pulled her a little closer. “I had already decided I wouldn’t tell you,” she added quietly.

That pissed him off as well. He had rights, and one was to know he was going to be a father. He bit that back, though, bit back the bitterness he felt, the betrayal he felt, and instead asked, “Why?” He tipped her face up when she didn’t answer. She still didn’t meet his eyes.

“Because I didn’t want you to come back just because of the baby.”

Looking at her, Casey suspected it was more a case of being afraid he wouldn’t want the baby or her, but he didn’t contradict her. He had been damn near paranoid about preventing a pregnancy. In the end, his efforts had failed. She looked down, and he leaned his cheek against the top of her head. “Riah,” he asked softly, “what happened?”

She tensed, seemed to draw in on herself, and then she broke. He held her and let her cry. When she finally stopped, before he could think of something comforting to say, she said thickly, “Aunt Lydia says it wasn’t my fault,” and he ached for her.

Casey didn’t think she believed that at all from the sound of her voice. Riah told him the rest then, told him about having cramps through the day and not thinking anything about it. She told him she went to bed early because she tired easily, and then she went quiet again. When she started talking once more, her voice so soft that he didn’t think he would have heard her if he hadn’t been so close to her, she told him about waking up in the middle of the night to find she was bleeding. At that point, it poured out of her, how she called her aunt, how Lydia came to get her, and, finally, how her aunt told her she lost the child.

Riah began to cry again. Lost himself, Casey simply held her tightly. He had done some reading, most of it, admittedly, online, about miscarriage. The articles he’d read said again and again that it was generally not the mother’s fault, that the fetus was simply not viable for whatever reason. He’d read about the various causes of miscarriage, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask if she knew which she’d experienced.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he finally said, inadequate though the words were.

“I know,” Riah whispered. “Lydia made sure I knew.” She wiped at her face a moment, and then she continued, told him how the blackness had taken her, how Bartowski had raised the alarm when she didn’t show up for work. She told him about her mother and the rest of her family coming, how her mother had dragged her out of bed, made her clean up and eat, and how they had wanted her to talk to Ben.

She lifted her head then, and Casey wished it was dark so Riah wouldn’t see his face. Whatever she had been about to say died unsaid as she looked at him. “When I found out,” he choked then and had to stop. After a moment, he went on, “When I found out, all I could think was how badly I wanted it to be a mistake.”

This time, she tried to comfort him. She climbed into his lap and sat astride his hips, facing him. Her arms went around him and so did her legs. He wrapped himself around her as well, and the two of them sat there and grieved, clung to one another for quite some time. She finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper, “How did you find out?”

“Emma,” he admitted. “When you were shot and I was supposed to leave to catch my flight, she followed me out and asked if that was what I did. She thought I made a habit of just walking away from you.”

“’Tell Casey he has to tell you good bye,’” Riah whispered.

He nodded. “Then she tore into me for not being there when you lost the baby.” He buried his face in her shoulder a moment. “She thought I knew and didn’t care.” He swallowed. “I stayed. I kept hoping you’d be awake enough we could talk, but Beckman sent the MPs before that happened.” She gave him a confused look, so he explained quickly. Then he breathed in deeply a moment and pulled back to look at her.

It was his turn. Instinct made him want to tear into her for not telling him, but looking at her, seeing the depth of pain still there, he tempered it. Riah wasn’t one of his men, and she wasn’t an errant agent assigned to him who needed to be ripped to shreds so it didn’t happen again. He had to get this right, had to not hurt her so badly she reconsidered her yes. Casey watched her until he was sure he could get just the right amount of anger and hurt, until he was sure he wouldn’t drive a permanent wedge, and then he began.

“For once in your life, Riah, you should have been selfish. You should have made me shut up the night I called you long enough to tell me. You should have answered my e-mail. You should have insisted that Walker or Beckman find me so you could tell me. Paul Patterson knew where I was, and he would have found me for you. When—“ he choked, waited a moment, and then continued, “when you lost the baby, you should have made someone find me. I couldn’t have gotten here in time, but I would have come.” Casey leaned his forehead against hers, stared into her eyes. “ _Never_ do that again.”

He took his thumbs and wiped away her tears before he kissed her. She clung to him, kissed him back. Riah didn’t look at him when she said, “I had to quit taking the pill, John, because of the baby. I didn’t start again because you were gone.” He heard what she thought, that he wasn’t coming back. Then he realized they had been having a lot of unprotected sex in the last thirty-five hours or so. She sniffled. “I’ll need to start again.”

His arms tightened around her while Casey waited until she looked at him again. He studied her, considered and reconsidered what he wanted to say, but then he saw it. “Don’t,” he said.

Her eyes went wide. “Don’t?”

Perhaps he had read her wrong. “Unless you want to,” he told her and tried not to let the disappointment creep into his voice. Casey nearly backtracked on that before he realized he meant it. He examined that a moment, realized something he’d never completely admitted to himself. He thought back to that drunken conversation with Bartowski after Ilsa turned up. He’d told the kid then he wasn’t the parental type, didn’t want to be, and while he wasn’t at all sure he could ever really be that type, Casey thought he’d at least like to try.

Riah had gone a little paler, looked a little uneasy, so he told her how he honestly felt. This time, his stance was very different than it had been before. “I want children, Riah, but only if you do. If you don’t, that’s okay.” He kissed her softly. She looked at him, studied him. He laid a hand on her abdomen. “Let’s just let it happen—if it’s going to.”

Her nod of agreement seemed a long time coming. He held her without saying anything for quite some time, but eventually Casey slid her off his lap, turned and laid her on the bed, stretched out beside her. He pulled her close, and they stayed that way for a long while before he remembered her mother’s orders. “On the off chance they let us get married, when do you want to do it?”

She lifted her head from his shoulder. “How long will you be in Gaza?”

He confessed he didn’t know. She told him she was in no particular hurry. He told her he might be. She frowned at him and asked why. He kissed her very thoroughly and very heatedly, and she breathlessly said, “Oh.” She told him she didn’t want to get married in June. They talked about April, but she reminded him Ellie and Woodcomb were getting married in April. She ruled March out for logistical reasons—Emma had commitments with school that month, and her mother had professional commitments as well. Casey asked if she wanted to wait until fall or winter. She shook her head. They talked about Memorial Day weekend. Riah told him she knew a couple who married during that holiday, neither of whom could ever remember their anniversary because the dates of the holiday changed each year.

Eventually, she slipped out of his arms, went in her old room, and came back with a calendar. They compared American and Canadian holidays, looked for a time when their friends and families might all be free.

As Riah sat there with the paper calendar and the calendar on her BlackBerry open in front of her, she suddenly went still and cocked her head to the side. A funny little smile pulled up the corners of her mouth, so Casey asked what she was thinking. “Fourth of July is a weekend this coming year.”

“Come on,” he groaned. “I’m not getting married on the Fourth of July.” He’d never hear the end of it—from Bartowski or anyone else, for that matter. They all seemed to think he had an American flag and “Made in the USA” stamped on his ass as it was.

She grinned, lifted a brow. “You’d never forget our anniversary.”

He snorted. That would certainly be true. “Maybe we ought to talk about where we’re getting married before we pick a date.”

Casey assumed she would want to get married in Canada, either in Ottawa or in Newfoundland. He supposed she might consider Chicago home and want to marry there. Riah looked at him and said, “I don’t consider myself particularly religious, but I would like to be married in church, and I would like to be married at home.” She chewed her lip, deep in thought, before she finally added, “But the logistics of getting married in Canada don’t make a lot of sense.”

He ran a hand up her back. “How so?”

Riah told him she would have to travel back and forth making arrangements, and she didn’t want to be away from him any more than she had to be. He shared that particular sentiment, so he nodded. She asked if he wanted to get married in his hometown. Casey shook his head.

She eyed him, rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, and after several moments admitted, “I think the easiest thing all around is to just get married here. You won’t have to leave Chuck, Mum has a house not so near she will make me crazy but close enough she can help, and we have friends here. There’re also enough airports in the greater Los Angeles area to make it easy to get everyone else here.” She stopped, and he thought about it. It made sense, so he agreed.

Casey could tell there was something else, though, so he waited. When she didn’t speak up after a few moments, he asked her to tell him. “I’d like Peter to marry us, though—if that’s okay with you.” He wondered who the hell Peter was, and he felt certain he wasn’t going to like the answer. She must have seen the expression on his face, for she explained quickly that she and this Peter had gone to school together as children, been lifelong friends, and he was a priest at her old parish church in Newfoundland.

After a moment’s thought, Casey saw no problem with her wish and agreed.

That settled, they went back to looking at calendars. Casey pointed out her birthday fell on a weekend the coming year. Riah gave him a look before she snapped back that his did, too. “I’m not getting married on my birthday,” he groused.

She lifted a brow and said, “Neither, am I, John.”

It seemed that no matter what date they looked at, there was a problem. Weekends were the most feasible since they both had family who would need to travel, and both conceded holidays that provided an extra day or two off would ease that. No matter how hard he tried, Casey could not find a better day than the one she had suggested, presumably as a joke. He finally sighed and conceded that July 4 was the earliest, most workable date. She seemed taken aback by his capitulation. He added, “Wear just the white, though, okay?”

As she looked up at him, a blush spread over Riah’s cheeks. “I don’t think I’m entitled.”

He leaned over a bit and kissed her thoroughly. “You were a virgin, Riah. I think you qualify for the white gown.”

“You’re sure about this?” she asked.

“Well,” Casey drawled and nibbled along her neck. “I’m not sure any man can ever be completely certain, but—“

She stopped him with her mouth.

“Not that,” she growled when she released him.

“Riah, I don’t care when we get married as long as you marry me.”

She gave him one of those smiles of hers, the ones that lit her face and loosened something in him, but then it shifted, gave him a sinking feeling he was about to have to defend himself. “Tradition calls for something blue. I suppose I could look at one of those navy and white dresses I see more and more, and if I wore garnets or rubies—“

This time, he stopped her with his mouth. If she dared arrange a red, white and blue wedding, he would make her elope. “No clichés, Riah. White.”

“White _is_ the cliché, John,” she said with a smile and then asked, “What about you?”

For a split second he was confused. Casey would wear whatever Riah told him to, even if it was one of those god-awful morning coats one of his sisters had put her wedding party in. Truthfully, he wanted to wear his dress uniform, but he wasn’t sure how she would feel about that. He was proud of his service, but even his sister Jan had made him wear a suit when she married.

“Spit it out, Major,” Riah said.

“Would it upset you if I wore my dress uniform?”

Riah shook her head. “Not at all.” She ran a hand up his chest and cupped his cheek, stroked her thumb over his lower lip. Her voice dropped to a soft, sexy register. “Did I ever tell you I have a thing for men in uniform?”

Casey leaned in for a long, slow kiss and stroked a hand up under her shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and he ran a thumb over her nipple. She moaned. “Really?” he asked, more interested in her reaction to his thumb than to his question.

“Mmm,” she said, her eyes heavy-lidded. “One of the photographs in your ISI file is of you in uniform. I thought you were gorgeous.” He lifted his head to stare at her. She’d never given any indication in their early days that she found him even remotely attractive. “You are gorgeous,” she murmured, and put her mouth under his jaw and began kissing his throat. “Why do you think I was ready to murder that redheaded major when you took me to that Marine thing?”

_Redheaded major?_ Then he remembered the verbal swipes she had taken at Celia. That was the night she had met Paul Patterson, and his former commanding officer had been half in love with her by the end of the evening. “If it makes you feel any better, I was nearly ready to kill General Patterson before the night was over.”

She gave him a satisfied smile. “I like Paul.” Casey growled. “He’s a very sweet, very handsome man.”

“Riah,” he said in warning.

She pulled him down and kissed him with her entire body. “You, John. Only you,” she murmured. “We don’t have a lot of time left,” she whispered and met his mouth again.

 

They made the most of the rest of the day, and in the early evening, Casey dragged her out of bed as he told her he was taking her out to dinner. Riah put on a stunning, deep blue dress, and he slid his arms around her from behind as she put the diamonds he’d given her back in her ears. He nearly told her she was beautiful, but he remembered the last time he had done that while holding her from behind. “They suit you,” he told her instead, and she smiled.

It was a little before nine when they returned home. Casey hoped against hope that they could get in the apartment without meeting anyone so they could spend the last few hours he had loving one another. He’d told her over dinner at the little Italian place she liked so much that Beckman had arranged for a military transport for him so he could stay later than he had originally planned.

He stifled a sigh when he saw Ellie and Woodcomb in the courtyard, and Ellie called them over. Riah shot him a look. It helped a little that she was equally disappointed as they crossed to where the other couple sat. When Casey thanked Ellie again for dinner the day before, she waved his thanks off. She asked when he had to leave, and he admitted he would go in a few hours.

“You gonna need someone to take you to the airport?” Woodcomb asked.

Casey told him he’d made other arrangements but didn’t share that he’d drive his rental, and someone would return it for him.

Suddenly, Ellie crowed, “I _knew_ it!”

Both Casey and Woodcomb looked at her, puzzled. “Knew what, babe?” Woodcomb asked.

Ellie was out of her seat and crushing Riah in a hard hug. “I knew it!” Then she released Riah to squeeze Casey tightly. He didn’t squirm, didn’t say anything, just let the woman attempt to fracture his ribcage until she let go. When she let him breathe again, she lifted Riah’s left hand and said, “Let me see!” Ellie gripped Riah’s hand, turned it to examine the ring in the limited light of the courtyard. “Wow!” she breathed. “Wow!”

“She has a sixth sense about these things,” Woodcomb said with a weird kind of pride.

Casey was inordinately pleased by Ellie’s reaction to the ring. In that moment, it was worth every penny. Then, he plunged into doubt. There was no way an appliance salesman could afford two carats of high-quality diamonds set in platinum. Riah’s ring had set him back more than a year’s salary at the Buy More. Fortunately, Ellie didn’t think of that. At the moment, she was firing questions at them the way a drill instructor barked orders, but Casey didn’t think either he or Riah had a hope in hell of answering even a fraction of them, especially since Ellie didn’t seem to pause long enough to breathe, let alone let anyone answer any of those questions. Woodcomb finally intervened, put his hands on his fiancée’s shoulders and said, “Babe, come up for air a minute.”

Casey gave a quiet snort. Riah leaned into him. He put an arm around her and went for the easiest of Ellie’s questions, though his answer wasn’t exactly honest: “We haven’t set a date yet.” It would be too complicated to give the date they’d agreed on and then possibly have to backtrack until they knew whether or not there would even be a wedding. He had a feeling Ellie would start steamrolling Riah into plans as soon as she could. “I only asked her last night, and a lot of it will depend on when I can get leave or, if I can’t, when my deployment ends.”

Ellie’s face suddenly fell. Then she changed the subject a bit. “I suppose you’ll go home to Canada to get married,” she said mournfully.

He let Riah take that one. “Actually, we’ve decided it’s probably easier to get married here. Travelling back and forth to arrange a wedding in Canada, let alone the logistics of getting both our families and our friends there, is more than I want to bother with.”

Woodcomb leaned in and whispered something in Ellie’s ear. She smiled and nodded at him. Casey’s eyes narrowed, and he wondered what the woman plotted. While Ellie peppered them with questions about whether or not they wanted a church wedding, whether they wanted a big or small wedding, and a thousand other questions Riah struggled to answer, Woodcomb disappeared into the apartment he shared with Ellie and Bartowski. Casey was trying to gauge how best to successfully escape when Ellie’s fiancé came back out with a bottle of champagne and some glasses. Woodcomb handed the glasses around and opened the bottle before filling them.

Casey resigned himself to being toasted and spending a little of the precious time left to them with the other couple. They took seats at the table, and Casey picked up Riah’s hand. When she neatly turned the discussion to the other couple’s wedding plans, though, he was reminded once more of one of the reasons he loved her.

They hadn’t been seated long when Bartowski and Walker came through the archway into the courtyard. “What’s the occasion?” Chuck asked, looking at them curiously.

Since it wasn’t something Casey wanted to make a joke of, he simply lifted the hand he held and shifted his grip so his partner and the kid could see Riah’s ring. Bartowski’s face lit like a light bulb. Walker, on the other hand, looked like she did on the rare occasions he actually managed to get past her defenses with a right jab. She was a bit stiff with her congratulations, but Casey figured if it was because she and Bartowski were still playing keep away. Chuck hugged Riah, and then Walker did as well, though Casey could tell his partner wasn’t as happy for them as the other three had been. Knowing better than to even try hugging him, Chuck shook Casey’s hand. Woodcomb went inside to get two more glasses as Chuck asked, “So when are you getting married?”

He and Riah went back through the answers they had given Ellie and her fiancé. Casey let Riah take most of the questions, though he began to notice she looked less and less happy, said less and less. He observed her closely, noted she seemed lost in thought. He lifted the hand he held and turned it so that he touched his lips to her palm. She seemed to come back from whatever she was thinking while he watched her, thought of what they could be doing as the minutes ticked away. Casey stood, told the others he had to get ready to leave. Riah stood as well. They were congratulated once more, and then he led her home.

Casey took her upstairs without turning on the lights where he began stripping her clothes from her. She shoved at his own clothes, and he helped her where he could. He ran his hands over her, followed with his mouth, and she returned the favor. There was a bit of urgency because they were running out of time. He had no idea when he would see her again. For the first time, there was a certain amount of reluctance to go off on a new assignment.

 

Riah slept when Casey unwrapped himself from her and quietly slipped out to the shower. He dressed and repacked his bags, and then he went back to the bed. He debated waking her, heard Emma’s order in his head. Riah lay there as he had often imagined her while he’d been gone, warm, drowsy, her hair a tangle across his pillow. He should let her sleep, but he leaned over and kissed her. She wound her arms around his neck.

“I’ll call you when I finish my meeting with Beckman,” he told her.

She tightened her arms around him and kissed him. “Love you,” she murmured sleepily.

“Love you, too,” he told her, and ran a soft hand down her cheek.

“Don’t get killed,” she added.

“I’ll try not to,” he said wryly and leaned in for one last kiss.

 

Outside, Casey stashed his bags in the rental before he returned to the complex and walked toward Kavanaugh’s quarters. His was about to check his last task off his list. It was easy to pick the lock, despite being out of practice. He hadn’t lied to Bartowski; Walker was better at it, but she did it more often. The security system, the same as the one in his and Riah’s apartment, was child’s play. After he disabled it, he made his way silently down the hall.

The man sprawled on his stomach in his bed. Casey settled the SIG’s muzzle just behind the man’s left ear and jabbed to wake him before he leaned down and said with as much menace as he could muster, “When you next see Mariah, take a good, long look at her left hand. As a result of what you see, you will show her due respect.” He emphasized each of the orders he then delivered by shoving Kavanaugh’s head with the SIG: “You will not touch her. You will not call her names. You will not taunt her. In fact, you will not speak to her unless you absolutely have to—and for the most part, you better find you don’t have to.”

Kavanaugh remained still. “Or what?”

Casey felt the smile. “Many things could happen to you,” he promised, pressed the SIG a little harder into his skull, “even things no one would suspect might be intentional—but definitely would be.” He let that sink in a moment, and from the way Kavanaugh flinched and rolled his eyes at him, Casey was certain his reputation had preceded him. “My finger might twitch while we have another conversation like this one—and if you even look at her sideways, we _will_ have another conversation similar to this one.” He paused. “Or I could decide to practice a few innovative and fatal interrogation techniques, arrange for an accident or friendly fire on an operation.” He breathed in like a man savoring delicacies and added, “So many, _many_ options.” He pushed the SIG even harder against the man’s head, and dropped his voice into the dangerous tones that scared the piss out of most men. “Treat Riah as if she were the Queen of England and you’re a loyal subject, or I will end you. Got that?”

Kavanaugh nodded faintly, and Casey, because he could, pushed two tranq darts in the other man’s neck below his ear. He wasn’t giving him a chance to retaliate. When Kavanaugh was unconscious, he took the darts and let himself out.


	15. Chapter 15

Casey had a moment of déjà vu when he deplaned. An agent met him, waited while he collected his bags, and drove him to NSA headquarters where Beckman waited for him. He was ushered into a briefing where they prepared him for his mission in Gaza.

In his head, Casey could hear Riah’s sleepy, _Don’t get killed_ , and he was very aware of all the ways this could result in exactly what she’d told him not to do. He clamped his jaw shut and mentally lectured himself for going soft.

He was given photographs to study, street maps to familiarize himself with the location, and dossiers on the people he would have to find, meet, or potentially take out. He was given codes and exit contacts. In short, it was a normal briefing, but it ended very differently than any he had ever experienced.

Beckman finally called a halt, and when Casey returned, as ordered, after dropping the material he’d been given with his bags, the group present was considerably smaller and had changed most of the participants. “Major Casey has made a personal request to marry a young agent who has been working with him,” she began.

Casey chafed a bit at the adjective _young_ , but he held his tongue.

One of the DNI guys eyed him and asked who the bride was. Beckman told them. He could read their faces, and it didn’t look good.

“Isn’t she V. H. Adderly’s daughter?” one of them finally asked. During the lengthy pause that followed his question, Casey wondered how many of those seated at the table knew the answer to that before the objections started flying, which answered the question for him.

Casey sat quietly, except when he was asked direct questions. The DNI weasel kept insinuating that there must be something else going on, that because it was known he was friendly with Riah’s father, that because of how both V. H. and his daughter earned their livings, this marriage was a risk to national security. After considerably more than an hour, the one member of the panel before him who had not yet spoken eyed Casey and asked, “Major Casey, you keep insisting that marriage to Miss Adderly will not jeopardize any operation to which you may be assigned. Would you explain why you are so confident this is so?”

Sitting back, Casey thought this was probably the first intelligent question he had been asked. As he was about to answer, General Beckman apparently decided to do so on his behalf. “Miss Adderly has—“

The man who asked the question turned to Beckman and cut her off: “Major Casey may answer, Diane.” It was obviously a warning despite the man’s lazy, indifferent tone. Casey thought a second. If Beckman believed she should answer for him, she probably thought his response would compromise this somehow. Then, given her ongoing objections about his relationship with Riah over the past year, he wondered why she didn’t just let him do exactly that.

“Mariah has worked with me on my current assignment,” Casey began. “A number of times, her assistance has been invaluable, and she has never betrayed any bit of vital intelligence to her father. She has a record of not talking, not even when tortured, and I believe that she will continue to guard anything she might learn.” He hoped he sold that. He hoped he wasn’t closely questioned about that statement, either. It was correct as far as it went, but there was one lie by omission. He knew she had traded one piece of information off—the mess with Carina. Casey could live with that. Riah had turned out to be absolutely right, and what she had done had kept them from exposing Bartowski and from looking like morons.

The gentleman who had asked the question continued to shrewdly study Casey, but Casey kept his face impassive. “I understand, Major, that you have twice compromised yourself over Miss Adderly.”

The others began to murmur amongst themselves. Casey continued to stare at the man, though he belatedly wondered who he was. Beckman had not introduced the other participants; admittedly, he knew all of them except this man. “Is that a question?” Casey asked.

The man gave a brief, huffing laugh. “No, but this is: your record with the NSA was fairly pristine until Miss Adderly moved in with you. Since then, you’ve been formally reprimanded for recklessly endangering Miss Adderly, you handed over command in the same incident that earned your reprimand, and you nearly faced AWOL charges because of her. How do we know that if the two of you marry, you will continue to do your duty rather than allow your wife and her needs to come first?”

In his head, Casey could hear Paul Patterson. It struck him as a good answer. “I love my country, and it is my honor to serve it. I do my job. I do my job well. I love Mariah, too. Because she’s in the business, she understands that there are times when I can’t put her before my duty to my country.” The other man was about to say something, but Casey went ahead and said what he figured would probably be the deal-breaker: “But there will be times when she ought to come first. If it does not jeopardize national security, I will put her first when she needs me.”

Beckman didn’t look happy at all. Casey figured she ought to know upfront that he didn’t intend to live the job as he had done. Ironically, the man who had asked did look happy with his answer. It made no sense to him. He would have thought the last thing representatives of his government wanted to hear was that there would be times when the job they paid him to do would not be his first priority. It did seem, though, given the man’s two questions, that he was better informed than the others at the table with the exception of General Beckman. Casey had a feeling he was the one who would make the final decision.

The man nodded and said, “If you will excuse us, Major, there are others with whom we need to speak. Please don’t go far.”

Casey knew a dismissal when he heard one. He stood and nodded to the panel before he left the conference room. To his surprise, the first person he saw outside the room was Riah. He didn’t even think about it, just crossed to her and crushed her into his arms before he blindly sought her mouth. She wound her arms around him and returned his kiss. He supposed, as he put her back on her feet, that he shouldn’t have been surprised she had been sent for. It did, however, occur to him that they could have travelled together.

Before he could ask her, V. H. stepped forward and said, “Mariah, they’re waiting for you.” Casey gave her an encouraging smile as he watched them walk toward the room he had recently left.

He told the man at the desk nearby he was going to his office. It still amused him that he had an office. It wasn’t like he spent much time there, and it wasn’t like he really needed one. He was rarely at headquarters for any amount of time, but he had a small office nonetheless. He’d get a start on the Gaza assignment, read through the material with which he needed to familiarize himself.

Once there, though, Casey couldn’t focus; his attention kept stealing away to what was probably happening in that conference room. He ought to be prepping for Gaza, but he couldn’t keep his head in the game. His fate, his and Riah’s was being decided elsewhere, so he suspected he would be unable to focus until he knew what their answer was.

Time crawled. He wasn’t the most patient of men to begin with, especially when he wasn’t on the job, but he would swear someone had broken the office clock given how slowly it marked the passage of time.

He wondered what they were asking her. He wondered if he would have to kill the DNI weasel, and he wondered who the man who had asked him about Riah was. He sat down at his computer, switched it on, logged on, and pulled up the security feed on the building’s front door. When he caught the man’s face, he began running it through facial recognition software. Depending on who the man was, Casey had probably just tripped several security alerts, but he didn’t much care.

As time continued to drag, he began to prowl the small office. He wondered if Riah had been separated from her father to face questions or if the other man had been allowed to stay with her. He wondered if V. H. was voicing any of the objections Casey had heard from him, wondered if the man would try to undermine his daughter’s happiness. He sincerely hoped Ariel had been right when she claimed he would want Riah to be happy.

Then he wondered what, if any, objections the Canadian government might raise and whether or not he and Riah would have to repeat this particular tango in Ottawa.

Casey wasn’t surprised he didn’t return an ID on the man in the conference room. He was surprised to realize it had taken well over two hours to say there was no result. He got antsy, then. The panel in the conference room had talked to him for slightly less than two hours; Riah had been in there for more than three at this point.

After another half hour, his phone rang. It was Beckman asking him to return to the conference room. As he entered, his eyes immediately found Riah’s pale face. Just to annoy her father, he leaned down to kiss her. Her lips were cold, and his heart sank. He had a feeling they were about to be told their relationship was at an end.

Riah’s hand trembled in his as he pulled hers onto his thigh once he was seated beside her. She looked at him, but her smile was a little off, her eyes miserable. Beckman spoke, and it only took a few seconds for Casey to feel his anger surge. She had told him Riah would have to leave ISI, but it still pissed him off that it was the price Riah had to pay.

As they went through the list, it became increasingly apparent that in order to get married, Riah would make all the sacrifices. She had to leave ISI, she could not work in intelligence for another agency for at least five years, and there was a moment where he thought they were going to be allowed to marry but not live together until Beckman moved on to say that as long as they could maintain a firewall, they could remain under the same roof in Los Angeles. He noticed Riah would stay in place with the Intersect under that condition, and, apparently, he, Casey, was her only compensation. While he was glad Riah could step in if they needed her, he was pissed off that she got nothing out of it. He opened his mouth to protest, but both V. H. and Beckman gave him looks that told him to simply shut up. He did. Beckman finished with, “Congratulations, Major, Miss Adderly.”

The members of the panel shook their hands and filed from the room. When only he, Riah, and V. H. remained, her father looked at Casey and said, “She’s paying a pretty high price for you. I hope you’re worth it.”

“I intend to be,” Casey said quietly, after which the two men shook hands. That V. H. had echoed his own thoughts didn’t surprise him. The man couldn’t be happy, regardless of his ambivalent feelings about his daughter’s vocation, to have to lose his part of the Intersect project. Casey wondered if another ISI operative would participate or if Riah would be allowed to pass pertinent information on. He had a feeling she wouldn’t, that Beckman would use anything she did not personally give Adderly as evidence that Riah wasn’t living up to her side of the agreement. Casey didn’t like to think about what that would mean.

He watched her father fold her into a tight hug. “I love you, sweetheart,” he said. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I do,” Riah said as he released her.

V. H. gave his daughter that grin Casey hadn’t seen in a while. “I see you’ve learned the important words.”

Then it was just the two of them. He was about to speak, but Riah said, “Just shut up and kiss me properly.” Casey was more than willing to comply. She met him more than halfway, which led him to wonder if she had made arrangements to go back to Los Angeles that night or if she could stay. He had work to do since he was leaving late the next evening. Somewhere in there, he was supposed to go see his mother again.

He asked her when they broke the kiss. Riah told him she had to book a flight since her father had brought her to D.C. She smiled ruefully. “Apparently, he’s just decided to abandon me here.”

Casey doubted that. “Call him and ask.”

She shook her head. “He’ll call me.” She breathed in deeply and stared up at him. “Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind, John?”

He leaned in for another kiss. He considered making a joke, but it wouldn’t be funny in the circumstances, and the last thing Casey needed was to piss her off or give her a reason to suddenly rethink all she had just agreed to give up. As a result, he decided to say what he honestly thought. “If anyone should be having second thoughts, it’s you,” he told her gruffly.

“I’ll miss it—I won’t lie—but it isn’t like I need the money or the risk.” Riah reached up and kissed him deeply, slowly. “I think you’re worth the trade-off, John.”

“Riah, I’m not sure—“

“I am,” she whispered before she kissed him again.

They heard the clack of heels on the floor followed by General Beckman’s voice. “This is not a hotel, Major. Take your fiancée somewhere else to celebrate.” Riah had gone crimson. “We’re putting a car at your disposal. Return here tomorrow by five-thirty, Major.” She gave Mariah a look. “At your father’s request, we’ve booked a flight back to Los Angeles for you, Miss Adderly. Your flight information is downstairs. When you hand over your visitor’s pass, it will be given to you.”

Casey took her by his office so he could collect the information he needed to review before the mission. As he did so, Riah looked around with interest. She stayed by the door while he pushed files into his briefcase. He knew what she was seeing—a small room with nothing that marked it as a personal space. There had been very little in their apartment that marked that space as his when she had come to him, though that was certainly not the case now, he reflected. He wondered what she would make of his house.

He looked across at her. He needed to repack. What he had in his bags was not what he’d need in Gaza, so Casey told her, “I need to go by my house, and then I promised my mother I’d go to her place for a while.”

Riah looked a little disappointed. “I’m sure I can find a hotel somewhere.”

Casey snorted. “That wasn’t an excuse, Riah. That was the itinerary. Since you’re here, you’re going with me.”

As they drove up the drive to his house, Riah stared out the windshield. It wasn’t anything like the homes she had grown up in, Casey knew, but she seemed to like what she saw. He liked it. It was a two-story house in a quiet neighborhood. He suddenly wondered if she was about to start redecorating the way she had in Los Angeles. They walked around to the front porch, while Riah stared avidly at the beds in front of the porch. “Azaleas?” she asked, eyeing the bare bushes.

He shrugged. He had no idea what they were. “Someone takes care of the yard, Riah. I’m rarely here, so I don’t know what they are.” They had flowers; he at least knew that much.

She gave him a funny look and walked up the steps with him. The deck of the porch was wood painted a complimentary color to the siding. He watched her look at the space as he sorted out the right key, saw she noted the hooks where a porch swing had once been. Something in her look said there would be again. Casey didn’t think he’d mind, despite the fact the idea of sitting exposed in the open made him feel twitchy. When he had the door unlocked, he gestured for her to precede him.

There was furniture, at least, and he acknowledged that was more than she had encountered when she arrived in Los Angeles. She had a bemused smile as she looked at the living room. Casey tried to see it through her eyes. It was spartan, but most of his living spaces were. Then he relaxed. He’d seen her home, and she wasn’t exactly into stuffing spaces full of fluff and clutter. He gave her the tour, living room, dining room, kitchen, laundry room, an empty room the previous owners had used as a den, and a room that had formerly been a sun porch where he had set up an office space. He took her upstairs and pushed open the doors of the four bedrooms, bathroom, and master bedroom. Only the master bedroom and one other bedroom had furniture. She smiled at that. “What? I don’t have guests as a rule,” he said defensively, which made her laugh.

He tossed his bag on his bed and unzipped it. He removed the contents and began going through his closet for what he needed to take with him. Riah came up behind him and stuffed his discarded clothes in the hamper, relieved him of the clean ones he pulled from the closet before she crossed to the bed where she began folding and packing. Casey watched her a moment then finished gathering the rest of his clothes.

Photojournalist. He grimaced at the thought. He would have preferred a different cover, but it did give him the advantage of moving around Gaza City with relative ease. As a result, he had pulled jeans and cargo pants, a pair of hiking boots that would suit the cover (though he would have preferred his combat boots), and the vest he’d acquired on a similar job years before.

Beckman would provide a press pass, the photographic equipment and the bag for it. That there would be a false bottom holding a disassembled weapon that couldn’t be found with x-rays or metal detectors was a given. Riah made room for the other weapons he intended to take as he unlocked the gun safe in the closet and selected from his arsenal. He wished he had brought a couple of things from Castle, but he’d requisition them before boarding the plane. He added his personal body armor. He’d bought it custom-made, preferred it to current government issue. He also knew it was less likely to raise questions than if he wore the same armor the U. S. government handed out.

Riah zipped the bag closed. Casey was amused when she didn’t comment on what he’d chosen to pack. He reached down an overnight bag from a closet shelf and handed her pajamas and what he would need for the following day. Finished, she zipped that closed as well. When she turned to say something, he cut her comment off with his mouth.

He was tempted to take her to bed and stay there until he had to get her to Reagan the next day. Her flight left a few hours before his, but Casey had promised his mother he would come home before he had to leave. Since she had released him to Riah for Christmas, he figured they had better go. It would be easier, he acknowledged, if Riah wasn’t wearing that pinstriped suit. The first time he had seen her in it—the only other time he’d seen her in it—he had realized she was a sexy woman. The way the short skirt slid along her thighs when she walked, the way she moved in the navy pumps she wore with it, the way it molded to her body, had caused him some interesting daydreams—dreams, too. Maybe, he thought, Casey should do himself a favor and remove that suit for his sanity.

They’d never get to his mother’s if he did that.

Casey released her reluctantly and turned to pick up his bags. She followed him, waited beside him as he locked up, and then walked beside him to the car. Beckman had given him one of the NSA’s SUVs, and while he had one of his own in the garage, it would save a trip back here to exchange them. He put Riah in the passenger seat before stashing his bags in the back with hers.

They had never discussed his family before, so he explained to her he had three sisters then described them and the rest of the extended Casey family. Riah grew quieter as they drove. Eventually, he caught her fingers, stopped them making restless movements in her lap. Casey took her left hand and drew it onto his thigh, linked her fingers with his, and continued to talk about his mother, his sisters’ husbands and children. He realized he hadn’t told his mother he was bringing Riah after all, as he shot a glance at the gas gauge. He’d call when he stopped, he decided, especially since Riah had begun to relax. Waiting meant he didn’t have to let go of her hand.

After a dozen or so miles, Riah drifted off to sleep. Casey eventually eased her hand back in her lap when he stopped at a station still a little over an hour from his mother’s house. He filled the tank then stood outside the car and called his mother to let her know he was on his way and that Riah was with him before he resumed driving.

As he pulled into his mother’s drive, Riah stirred. Casey watched her come awake as he unbuckled his seatbelt. He went quickly around and opened her door. He envied her the two hours’ sleep she had managed on the drive. Casey hadn’t had any real sleep in more than thirty-six hours, and it was starting to catch up with him, especially since he had had little sleep in the seventy-two hours prior. Not, he reflected, that he much cared. This was the culmination of that lack of sleep, and he was quite happy with the end results: Riah wore his ring, they were getting married in several months, and if they could survive this visit to his family, everything would be fine.

He reached up for Riah to help her step down from the high SUV. She followed him to the back for their suitcases. If he was lucky, Casey reflected, his mother wouldn’t give his fiancée as much trouble as she had the men his sisters had brought home.

His mother stepped onto her porch as they climbed the steps, but Casey wasn’t all that surprised to see she had obviously been watching for them. He hoped none of his sisters were inside as well. He didn’t want Riah to feel overwhelmed, especially since she was already worried about meeting them all. She had told him they must hate her when he explained he was supposed to spend Christmas with his family and had, instead, gone to her. Perhaps, he thought, he should have told them about her before he left for Los Angeles after all. It might make it easier for Riah if they already knew what there was to know about her. He knew his sisters well enough to know they would put Riah through an interrogation that would make what Afghani warlords or the old KGB did look like a friendly chat over coffee.

Casey leaned down and kissed his mother’s cheek. She quickly hugged him. He turned to Riah, took her hand, and said, “Mother, this is Mariah Adderly. Riah, my mother, Jane Casey.”

“Call me Jane,” his mother said, and smiled at Riah. “It’s cold,” she added. “Come  
inside.”

He held the door for his mother and Riah before following them in. When Casey pulled the door closed behind him, he automatically flipped the locks and watched Riah study his mother warily. “Take your things upstairs, Johnny,” Jane ordered briskly. “Show Mariah where you’ll sleep before you come back down.”

Casey wasn’t sure he heard that correctly. It sounded like she expected him to put Riah in his room with him, but given how she felt about unmarried couples sleeping together, especially in her house, he must be misinterpreting what she said. He looked at Mariah and then, for clarity, asked, “Which room should I put Riah in?”

He had hoped she would put Riah in Jan’s old room. It was next to his and had a double bed. He could easily slip next door to sleep with Riah and get back to his own room before his mother was up. He had no intention of sleeping in the same house with Riah but separated from her. He’d been away from her long enough, and tomorrow he’d be leaving her again for an indeterminate length of time.

His mother looked amused. “Any one you like, though I suppose you could just put her in yours.” Having said that, she walked to the kitchen, and Casey stared thoughtfully after her. He almost laughed. There were twin beds in his room. She was letting him have Riah in his room under the assumption they wouldn’t be able to share a bed.

Riah followed him upstairs where he led her to his old room. When he swung the door open so she could enter, she gave a soft snort of amusement. She turned to him and asked with a grin, “Which one’s mine?”

“I sleep in the one closest to the door,” he told her with an answering grin as he kicked the door shut and set his overnight bag down. He raised his brows and offered, “You could share it.”

She set her own bag down and turned to him, a faint smile on her lips. “It doesn’t look big enough for you, let alone both of us.”

Casey was suddenly aware that the last time he had had her alone—if he discounted the drive to his mother’s—was when he left her in bed in Los Angeles. His mother was downstairs, probably setting out a late supper for them, so he knew she was unlikely to come looking for them unless they failed to go downstairs again. He stepped closer to Riah, put his arms around her to give her a long, slow kiss. “As I recall,” he said softly when he lifted his head, “the two of us don’t take up that much room in a bed.”

There was a look in her eyes, hot and hungry, that almost had him locking his bedroom door and to hell with his mother. He kissed her again, hungry for her, but he knew he would take her downstairs instead. Casey held her close, kissed her temple, and offered, “We could push them together.” Riah pulled him down for another kiss as he considered whether they could do so without his mother hearing them. He was stupid enough to admit, “Although, my mother usually has a thing about unmarried people sleeping together in her house.”

Riah stiffened, looked up at him. He could see her concern, and he could tell she was worried about making a bad impression on his mother. Frankly, Casey didn’t care. He hoped his mother would like Riah, but he was marrying her whether his mother approved or not. Admittedly, life would be a lot simpler if Jane Casey approved.

“Maybe I should sleep somewhere else.”

“You stay with me,” he told her firmly. That was non-negotiable. Casey helped her out of her coat and hung it in the closet before shedding his and hanging it there as well. He would have liked to take his suit off, too, suspected Riah would prefer to change into more comfortable clothes, but it seemed a waste of time, and he didn’t want to waste what little time he had left. He thought about at least stripping off his tie, but his mother always gave him a look when he did that, as if wearing a suit required wearing a tie.

When they entered the kitchen, his mother was putting the finishing touches on the table. It amused Casey that she had pulled out her special occasion china. Then it dawned on him that his mother was trying to make a good impression on Riah. He used the hand on Riah’s back to steer her to the seat next to his usual one where he pulled the chair out for her. Riah shot him a nervous look. He gave her a reassuring smile. She looked over at his mother. Casey knew Riah was about to ask if she could do anything to help, but his mother turned and told her, “Sit. You’ve had a long day from what Johnny said on the phone, and it’s all ready.”

Riah sat and looked at him as he took the seat beside her. His mother put bowls of stew in front of them and then added a bowl of biscuits. Casey was further amused at the nearly reverential look Riah gave those biscuits. His mother asked her what she’d like to drink, and Riah’s absent “Water, please," coincided with her taking one of the biscuits. She broke it, smiled again while Casey exchanged a look with his mother. He wasn’t about to explain Riah’s fascination with food, let alone the fact the bread clearly met with her approval. His mother set water before her, shrugged and picked up a mug of tea before she joined them at the table.

“How long can you stay?” his mother asked.

“I leave tomorrow,” he told her. He didn’t miss the quickly masked disappointment on his mother’s face, nor did he miss the quick look she sent toward Riah. “I have to go overseas for an assignment, and then I’ll return to Los Angeles.” He never made promises to his family he couldn’t keep. If he had the opportunity, he would try to get a day or two with them before he went home to Riah.

Casey didn’t miss Riah’s guilty look at his mother’s question and his response. He didn’t want her to think he was choosing between his family and her. There was no choice, as far as he was concerned. Besides, Riah was now part of that family. He was, though, curious about the cause of the blush that stained her face as he told his mother he didn’t know how long he would be out of the country.

The conversation remained general as they ate. His mother did most of the talking, told him what had happened since he left Christmas Eve, talked about the neighbors, others he knew. When they finished eating, his mother reached for his empty bowl, and Riah’s manners compelled her to say, truthfully, Casey noted, “That was very good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” his mother told her. It wasn’t hard to see his mother was surprised to find her so polite. Then he realized she had expected someone more like how he had described Riah’s mother over the years. Riah stood and picked up her empty bowl, but his mother reached for it and waved her back to her seat.

He picked up Riah’s hand as his mother sat back down. His mother looked across at them and began asking Riah questions. She started benignly, asked Riah where she was from. After Riah told her, she asked about Riah’s parents. Riah blushed uncomfortably as she told her that, too. Riah went absolutely crimson when she was asked her age, and for the first time Casey wondered if she was sensitive about the difference in their ages. She answered questions about her schooling, including the fact that she held both a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in political science. He could tell his mother approved of that. She had always valued education, had pushed her children to go to college and been disappointed that none of them had gone beyond a four-year degree.

Then his mother asked the first question that tripped Riah up: “Where do you plan to live when you marry Johnny?”

Casey intervened then. “With me,” he told her tersely. They would live where the job was, he knew, though it was beginning to look like what Riah called the Chuck Watch might be a permanent assignment.

His mother stifled a smile then asked if they had chosen a date. Riah told her they were going to marry on the Fourth. Casey braced when his mother gave him a look that telegraphed she would singe his ears later. He shared her distaste for the idea, so he added, “It was literally the only workable date we could find,” before he explained the logistical reasons why they had settled on it. His mother didn’t look very mollified.

She next asked where they would get married. Riah’s hand trembled in his, so he knew she was worried about how his mother would react when they told her. “Los Angeles,” Riah said so quietly Casey wondered if her voice carried across the table. His mother grimaced, but he knew that was because she thought Los Angeles was a modern day Sodom and Gomorrah. Casey told her it was easier than the alternatives, especially since he was unlikely to be able to leave his assignment for very long.

Switching tactics, perhaps because she read Riah’s growing discomfort, she began asking about her family. She asked if Riah had any brothers or sisters, and Riah told her about Emma and then her stepfather. His mother asked if she had other family, and she talked about her mother’s sisters. Casey had only met Lydia, the OB/GYN, but he knew Ariel had two other sisters as well. Riah mentioned her five cousins. She explained that her father had an older brother who had been killed during service in the Canadian armed forces while her father was still in college. Casey hadn’t realized Adderly was anything but an only child. Both sets of her grandparents, she told his mother, were dead.

Riah relaxed as she spoke of her family, but when his mother asked if she planned to have children, Casey felt Riah tense again and quietly growled, “Mother.” He had told her about what happened to Riah earlier in the year, and he didn’t want to open the wound again.

His mother ignored his warning, though. “Johnny told me you lost a child.” Riah gave him a startled look. He flushed, realized he should have told her he’d explained about the baby to his mother. He was a little pissed off his mother had not only brought it up but made it sound like something out of Oscar Wilde’s play, _The Importance of Being Earnest_ , as if Riah had misplaced the baby rather than miscarried. He was also annoyed that his mother made it sound like the baby had no connection to him, to them.

Riah looked up at him and answered, “We want children.” He gave her hand a squeeze, but his mother had moved on to ask whether or not Riah would continue working when she became a mother.

Casey answered for her. “There’s time to make those decisions, Mother.” He hadn’t told her Riah, essentially, was no longer employed, and he wasn’t going to yet. He still thought it unfair that she had been railroaded into giving up her career, and while he was glad she loved him enough to do so, he was more than a little afraid she would come to resent her decision. He hoped he could find a way around their bosses’ insistence that she had to quit. For a moment, he thought Riah was going to answer anyway, but she studied him and said nothing.

One thing for which he had always respected his mother was that she knew when to back off. She had asked Riah a number of relatively intrusive questions, but she had avoided asking any that were too far over the line. She looked at them and said, “Your sisters are coming in the morning to meet Mariah. She looks done in. You, too, Johnny.” She stood and said, “I’ll see you both in the morning.”

Casey told Riah to take the bathroom first when they reached his room. She put her case on the spare bed and dug out what she needed. He was tired, and while she was in the bathroom, he got his shaving kit and pajama bottoms. He removed his suit and hung it in the closet before stripping down and pulling on the black pajama pants. He had hoped they could sleep late in the morning. Knowing his sisters, they would be over fairly early, so that precluded anything that might be a celebration of the fact that he and Riah were getting married. He found himself grinning at the thought: They were getting married. Casey had been enormously relieved when Beckman had given them the news. Riah, as her father noted, had paid the price, and Casey would have to make it up to her.

He caught his breath as she returned to his room wearing a black nightgown. It wasn’t entirely opaque. He hoped like hell she hadn’t met his mother in the hallway. He could see her nipples through the fabric, and she was obviously not wearing panties. When he returned to his bedroom after brushing his teeth, she stood between the two beds removing her jewelry. He gathered her close and kissed her, wished he didn’t need sleep as badly as he did. “If there was more time and I wasn’t so tired,” he apologized softly, “we’d celebrate.”

Riah pulled him down into a searing kiss while he maneuvered them toward his bed. He sat and tugged her between his knees and up against him before asking, “Together in one bed, push them together into a single bed, or sleep separately?”

“Let’s try the first,” she told him, running her hands over his shoulders and up his neck to cup his face. She leaned in for another brief kiss before he stood and lifted the covers so she could climb in. He turned and grabbed the pillow off the spare bed and slid in beside her. As he had done so many nights before, he reached for her, helped her settle in against him, let their legs and arms slid over and around each other. She lifted her face so he could claim her mouth for a goodnight kiss. When her mouth opened and her tongue found his, he weighed whether or not he was too tired to love her.

“Your mother isn’t going to be upset by this, is she?” she asked when he pressed his lips to her forehead.

He breathed in, savored her scent. “She’s the one who suggested I put you in my room.” He shifted to take her lips again with a slow, deep kiss. “Unfortunately,” he told her, “she’s not going to have anything to complain about. I’m simply too tired, Riah.”

Riah snuggled a little closer. “I love you, John,” she murmured.

Casey teetered on the edge of sleep when he whispered back, “Love you, too.”


	16. Chapter 16

The soft sound of his mother’s footsteps walking past his closed bedroom door woke Casey. From the faint light filtering through the curtains, it wasn’t long after dawn, so he gently lifted Riah to a more comfortable position and went back to sleep.

He woke again, probably not much more than an hour later, and knew it wouldn’t be long before his sisters started showing up—if they hadn’t already. Riah clung to him in her sleep. Casey pictured that gown of hers again. He shifted in the bed, moved her until he could roll her beneath him as he’d done many mornings, then set about waking her.

Casey felt Riah’s smile against his mouth, and then her hands began sliding over his chest and up to cup his face. Riah’s mouth responded hungrily. He was more than happy to answer that hunger. Her body rose, rubbed against his, as he pulled at her nightgown while she shoved at his pajama bottoms. He lifted her just enough that he could slide the silky fabric of her gown up over her body. She released him as he pulled it over her head and tossed it away. She had managed to push his pants down his thighs; now she lifted her feet and used them to push them the rest of the way off him. He admired her ingenuity, especially since it meant her hands continued to stroke over his body.

The angle of her head made kissing her a little difficult. He shoved their pillows off the bed into the floor. Now that she was more accessible, he ran his mouth over her face, kissed along the curves, planes, and angles, paused now and then to nip softly with his teeth. Casey opened his mouth beneath her left ear. Riah rewarded him with a soft moan while she threaded her fingers through his hair. He moved on, worked his way down her throat, paused once more at the base over her wild pulse. Riah’s foot stroked up the back of his leg as he settled more fully between her thighs. He moved down, kissed along her chest toward her left breast while her body lifted to meet him. Her breath hitched, and she held him against her as he worked up the slope of her breast to her nipple.

When he heard Julie say, “You owe me twenty bucks, Jan. Johnny’s girl is actually real,” Casey’s first instinct on the heels of Riah’s embarrassed yelp was to shoot his sisters where they stood in the open doorway. His second was to wonder why neither he nor Riah had heard the door open. His third was to drop his weight on Riah, who was moving just enough to dislodge the sheet and blanket barely covering his naked backside to prevent their further exposure.

“I don’t think I said she wasn’t real,” Jan drawled. Casey could hear amusement in her voice.

Riah stared up at him, horrified. He was very far from amused by his sisters at that moment. He slid his arms up to take some of his weight off of his fiancée and to hide her bare breasts before he growled, “Get out. Both of you.”

Of course, he couldn’t get so lucky that they would do as he said. They never had, after all. He had hoped he could make up to Riah for the fact that he had been exhausted the night before, but he watched that hope go up in smoke as Julie added, “Mother’s going to have a fit, Johnny, when she finds out you’re sleeping with her in her house.”

Casey found her remark completely uncalled for, especially since Riah paled and her eyes widened in mortified fright. Jan, on the other hand, apparently found it amusing, for she snorted and chided their youngest sister: “Julie, he’s not sleeping with Mother.”

_And that was a complete mood killer_ , Casey thought, as though having two of his sisters interrupt weren’t bad enough. He gave a moment’s further thought to the notion of fratricide—was there a word for killing a sister that wasn’t masculine, he wondered? _Sororicide_ , maybe?

“You know what I meant,” Julie shot back, and Casey was plunged right back into the bickering he’d put up with during their adolescence. In fact, he wondered if Julie would ever grow up, which was saying something given she was forty-one. “If I knew her name, I’d have used it if for no other reason than to clarify.”

He had absolutely had enough. “Go away,” he snapped. “Now.”

“Not on your life, Johnny,” Julie said with an unapologetic grin, but then Julie had always said whatever popped into her head, was always unapologetic about it. If someone took offense, she considered that the other person’s problem, not hers. She leaned to the side, tilted her head to look around him at Riah. “I’m Julie, Johnny’s youngest sister. This is Janice, his oldest sister.”

A deep flush stained Riah’s face. She looked shell-shocked. “Mariah,” she said faintly. “John’s fiancée.” It was the first time she had claimed that title. He grinned happily down at her and kissed her, disregarded his watching sisters and Julie’s juvenile gagging noises.

After a second, Riah opened her mouth beneath his, and Casey would have forgotten the two women in the doorway if Julie hadn’t added, “Given how out of practice he must be, he does at least seem to have some idea of what he’s supposed to do.”

It was then that Casey remembered one of the reasons why he hadn’t brought a woman home for decades. It infuriated him that Julie managed to imply he was some sort of inept eunuch at the same time she interfered with his attempt to make love to Riah. He couldn’t stop the frustrated growl, but Riah apparently decided to stop him from saying something he might regret—not that there had ever been many regrets given he and his sisters generally took no prisoners once they got started. She looked up at him, told Julie and Jan in a very firm, very sexy kind of drawl, “I appreciate your concern, but he’s actually really, really good at it.”

He wasn’t entirely sure which was more embarrassing—Riah’s testimonial or his sisters’ snorts of disbelief followed by their laughter after his fiancée’s declaration. Apparently, it was going to shut his sisters up, though, because Jan’s voice was businesslike when she told them, “Mother said to tell you breakfast will be in about half an hour.”

Julie, who always had to have the last word, added, “You’ll need clothes,” before she reached for the doorknob and closed the door behind her.

Casey studied Riah, who wore a bemused look. “Sorry. I love them, but sometimes I really could kill them,” he grumbled. “Easily.”

“I dread introducing Emma to them.”

He snorted, though he had to concede from what he knew of Emma MacKenzie that despite being young enough to be Julie’s daughter, they might well form an unholy alliance when it came to tormenting their siblings. He looked down at Riah, studied her slightly swollen mouth and the growing heat in her eyes before he lowered his head to kiss her. When she released his mouth, Casey prompted, “So I’m really good at this.”

“Very, very good,” she repeated, and then he made her moan as he ground against her before he returned to where they had been interrupted and took her nipple in his mouth. Cognizant of the little time remaining to them, he set about proving that her faith in him was not at all misplaced.

 

Casey considered saving time and water by insisting she shower with him, but he was certain his mother would notice the water starting and stopping only once. He suspected Julie and Jan had ratted him out as it was, so he wasn’t going to give his mother any further ammunition to fire at him or, worse, Riah.

As he watched Riah pull a long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of jeans over a set of that skimpy, lacy underwear he liked so very, very much, Casey momentarily considered taking it right back off her and holing up in his room until they had to leave. Instead, he pulled on a long-sleeved, navy shirt and jeans. Because they weren’t going anywhere other than downstairs, he skipped shoes, noted Riah did as well. She went barefoot most of the time, though.

Riah froze as he reached around her to open the door. Their half hour had expired a good fifteen minutes ago. At first, Casey thought her stiffness was just her old paranoia about having someone come up behind her without warning, but when he looked at her face, he realized this was a replay of that morning after her birthday in her stepfather’s house. “Riah,” he began, intent on reassuring her, but she looked back at him and said faintly, “I can’t go down there, John.”

Worried she might panic as she had done that other morning, he put his arms around her and pulled her back against him. Casey whispered near her ear, “We faced down your mother, sister and stepfather under similar circumstances. You can do this.” Her body was rigid in his arms, and he couldn’t entirely blame her for her reluctance. His two sisters had caught them, essentially, in the act, something neither her mother nor Emma had really done. At least she had known the people she had to go down and face that morning in Chicago. This time, though, everyone waiting downstairs was a stranger to Riah. He kissed her neck just above the collar of her t-shirt. “Want my gun?” he asked.

She gave a weak laugh and put her hands over his where they rested on her stomach. “Maybe.”

He turned her, kissed her quickly, and then said, “Come on.”

Casey held her hand firmly in his as they walked into the kitchen. Julie helped his mother finish breakfast while Jan set the table. Jennifer rummaged in the refrigerator for the orange juice. They all turned to look at them when he led Riah into the kitchen. He was glad to see Jenn. His middle sister was the kindest of the three, and the second she figured out Riah was vulnerable, he was certain she would help him protect her from the worst of what Jan and Julie might throw at them.

Jenn gave them a smile, so Casey introduced Riah to her. Jenn made a beckoning motion with her free hand. “So let’s see the rock.” Riah blushed and held her left hand out. Jennifer’s brows rose as she took Riah’s hand to study the engagement ring. She turned her gaze to her brother, and said, “Well done, Johnny.”

His other two sisters crowded in, and Julie gave a low whistle. “Didn’t think government work paid that well, Johnny, or did you hold up a jewelry store?”

Riah took offense at that, but Casey interceded before she could say anything. “I can afford it,” he said gruffly, though he tried not to think about just how big a dent it had put in his credit line, “and Riah’s worth every penny.”

Casey’s mother looked over her shoulder to ask Riah, “Do you drink coffee?”

She nodded, and his mother told him to get her some. Casey didn’t let go of Riah’s hand until he reached the cabinet where his mother kept the cups. Riah asked if she could help, but his mother told her everything was ready and to just take a seat. He handed Riah a cup of coffee, picked up his own, then settled a hand in the small of her back to steer her around Jan to the chair where she had sat the night before.

They didn’t talk much while they ate, which let Riah relax a little. Casey, on the other hand, dreaded when the meal was finished because he knew what was coming, knew the kinds of questions his mother had put to them the night before would look tame by comparison.

He shouldn’t have been surprised that his sisters started before they finished breakfast. The questions were mild with his mother seated with them. They went back over the ground Riah had covered with his mother before: her family, where she grew up, and her educational background. Casey considered intervening when Jennifer asked where she worked, but Riah, who would soon leave ISI, told her, “The Buy More in Burbank.”

His mother shot him a surprised look, but he gave her one in return with a slight shake of his head that said not to say otherwise. It was, after all, true.

The questions remained relatively benign until their mother shrugged on a coat and picked up a plate to go next door to see Mike Hansen. The old man’s wife had died the year before, and he was failing quickly. Emphysema, his mother had told Casey before Christmas, and then she had given him a gimlet stare that he assumed was supposed to let him know he ought to give up his occasional cigar or suffer the same fate. She had barely closed the door before his sisters started the real interrogation.

Predictably, Julie began by asking, “So how did you and Johnny meet?”

Riah looked at him, and he gave her a faint nod. “On the job.”

“And which job would that be?” she asked with a predatory smile.

Casey gave her a hard stare, wondered what either of them had said to tell her there was more than one job involved. Riah hedged, “We met in Los Angeles.”

Jan decided to get in on the act. “So how does a girl from the Canadian Maritimes wind up in Los Angeles?”

Riah looked momentarily taken aback. This time, he wondered what his mother might have said to his sisters. They would nibble at it until they found out what they wanted. They were relentless when they were after something, after all, so Casey knew they were going to have to tell them. “She works for ISI.”

Jennifer looked like the only one who knew what that was. “So you and Johnny are in the same line of work,” she said. Riah’s nod was hesitant.

“Then what was all that bullshit about the Buy More?” Jan demanded.

Riah’s chin came up. Casey heard her mother in her voice when she said, “Because very shortly that’s the only job I’ll still have.”

It was the first indication she’d given that she might resent what she had to do in order to marry him. That gave him a moment’s pause. “In order for our bosses to let us get married,” Casey cut in, gave Julie a warning stare that stopped whatever her contribution to the interrogation was about to be, “they demanded Riah’s resignation.” He could tell his sisters were puzzled by that, but he had no intention of explaining the realities of their work.

Jennifer came to their rescue. “Has Johnny met your family yet?”

Riah smiled up at him. “Long before he met me.”

“How is that possible?” Jan asked.

She quickly explained about her father, her mother, and her stepsister and how Casey had met them but not her. He noticed she left out his and her mother’s shared antipathy. His sisters all looked at him then. “What?” he asked and braced for whatever was coming.

“It actually took you more than twenty years to meet your friend’s daughter?” Jan asked skeptically before she turned to Riah and asked, “How old are you, anyway?”

Riah told them, and then Jan asked, “So tell us about your previous boyfriends.”

Casey was about to tell them to knock it off when Julie cut in with, “Previous boyfriends, hell. Let’s hear about your previous lovers.”

The question crossed a line, so Casey was not going to let her answer it. He felt the color run up his face. To make matters worse, Riah looked like she wished the floor would open up and swallow her. “That’s enough,” he bit out, took Riah’s hand in his and turned an angry glare on them.

He felt a little betrayed when Jennifer said quietly, “Johnny was her first.”

Riah’s face went pale, and she looked up at him.

“I said that’s enough,” he ground out as he slid an arm over her shoulders and tucked her against him.

Julie, who had never known when to quit or where to draw the line, said, “Well, we knew she wasn’t his first. What about kids? From what I saw, you two seem to be making a good start toward Mariah’s first pregnancy—unless you’re practicing safe sex.”

Casey felt Riah go rigid. He could have killed Julie at that moment and not felt even a smidge of regret. What little color had still been in Riah’s face leached out, and when she looked up at him, the naked pain staring back at him nearly undid him. He reached a hand up, used his thumb to wipe away a tear that escaped, and for Riah’s sake, he tempered his voice when he told his sister, “Julie, you need to learn when to _shut up_.”

For a second, he thought Riah would flee, would push away from him and go nurse the pain in private. He watched her pull herself together, though, and he was proud of her when she turned to Julie with a terse, “That would be second pregnancy. I miscarried while John was overseas.”

His sister had the grace to look ashamed of herself, which was a novelty for Casey. He honestly hadn’t thought Julie had a sense of shame. She made a stammering apology. Riah acknowledged it with a small nod but then, to his surprise, added, “But to answer your question, yes, we want children.”

Jennifer asked, “Do you know what happened?”

He tightened his hold on Riah. She shook her head. “Just one of those things,” she said softly.

Jan asked when they were getting married. Casey began to relax as they teased him mercilessly for the date they had chosen. He took it easily, demanded to know what was wrong with getting married on the Fourth of July. Jenn asked Riah why she was letting him do this to her. Riah blushed, smiled before she looked up at Casey and admitted, “Actually, I chose the date.”

The other three women looked at her in disbelief. “It’s a long weekend,” she said defensively, “which gives most of our guests more time, and there’s a Canadian holiday a few days earlier.” She grinned sharply at him, so he braced for what was coming next. “Besides, John’s unlikely to forget our anniversary this way.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he deadpanned when the other three women did exactly that. He notoriously forgot dates not related to the job. Jenn usually called or e-mailed him to remind him of their mother’s birthday and Mother’s Day.

Jane Casey returned home then, and she and the girls started clearing the table. Riah stood to help, but his mother looked at him and told him to take Riah in the living room while they did the dishes. He followed his orders, pulled Riah into the living room then down on the couch with him.

“Well, that could have gone better,” she said quietly.

Casey snorted as he wrapped his arms around her. “They only eat the ones they love,” he assured her before leaned in for a kiss. Riah returned that kiss, and he was tempted to take her back upstairs. He could hear his sisters and mother in the kitchen, though, so he settled for holding her in his lap and talking softly.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered as he lowered his head to hers again. “I just got you back.”

He teased her mouth open, and she melted against him as he kissed her. He didn’t admit he felt much the same way. “It won’t be for long,” he assured her.

Riah pulled him back to her, and the way she kissed him nearly had him forgetting his name. It had taken him a long time to get her to confess that she loved him, but for the second time since they arrived, she told him unprompted, “I love you.”

Casey breathed, “Love you, too,” and folded her close before he took her mouth.

“Jeez, Johnny, get a room!” Julie groaned.

“He has a room,” Jan reminded her.

Riah rolled her eyes before asking them, “Why is it every time your brother kisses me in this house the two of you turn up?”

Casey grinned at her. She was getting her feet under her if she could make remarks like that, so he rewarded her with a fast kiss.

“Gross, Johnny!” Julie exclaimed and made gagging noises.

“Get used to it,” he said, stroking a hand along Riah’s thigh.

“Not gross at all, by the way,” Riah observed with a small grin. Her voice dropped into a sexy register as her arms went around his shoulders. “Very nice, in fact.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jan laughed. “You already told us he’s really, really good at it.”

Riah’s smile slid to seductive as she watched Casey. “I wasn’t talking about his kissing—though he does excel at that, too.”

He grunted and caught her mouth once more. She was pretty damned good at it herself, which he was about to acknowledge when his mother said, “Girls, leave your brother alone. Johnny, let Mariah get off your lap.”

Julie took another verbal shot and earned a hard look from their mother: “Johnny may need to keep her in his lap a few minutes.”

Stealing another quick kiss, he helped Riah slide onto the couch beside him. She was quiet as they talked, especially since the conversation rolled around his nieces and nephews and his brothers-in-law. Jenn, sitting on the other side of Riah, occasionally leaned in to clarify who they were talking about. Eventually, they cycled back around to talking about the wedding. Riah told them she didn’t want a huge wedding, and when his mother asked if it would be a church wedding, she confessed she intended to ask her old friend to marry them. “What faith are you?” his mother asked, so Riah explained she was Anglican.

The Caseys were Catholic, but, thankfully, his mother didn’t suggest, as she had with Jan’s husband, a Baptist, that Riah should consider converting. When the conversation moved on, he whispered that in her ear. She smiled and whispered back, “Good thing I’m the next best thing to being Catholic.” He snorted, amused despite himself. Then it occurred to him that his mother wasn’t terrorizing Riah the way she had the men who had had the audacity to want to marry his sisters. In fact, she was treating Riah quite gently by comparison.

Jenn looked at her watch and turned to them. “You two might want to get your shoes on,” she said.

He was about to ask why when his mother said, “I forgot to tell them.”

“We’re meeting Daniel and Mark for lunch,” Jenn told them. “That’s my husband and Jan’s,” she said for Riah’s benefit. “They had to work, but they agreed to come to lunch to meet you.”

“Just be thankful they’re sparing you the Horde,” Julie told Riah.

When Riah looked puzzled, Jan quickly explained that her children and Jenn’s were visiting paternal grandparents for the day.

They dutifully went upstairs and put their shoes and coats on. Back downstairs, Casey asked where they were eating. He nodded when Jenn told him where she had made the reservation. His sisters had ridden over together, so Jenn, whose car they had brought, said she’d drive them to the restaurant. Casey told his mother she was welcome to ride with him and Riah. There was a moment where she and Riah argued over who would ride in the back seat, but he wasn’t at all surprised his mother won that round. He handed her up into the seat behind Riah’s before walking around to the driver’s seat.

Even though he knew the way, he followed his sister, parked beside her when they reached the restaurant. He reached in and helped Riah down before doing the same for his mother. When they went inside, he was dismayed to recognize the hostess. “Johnny!” she said, and threw her arms around him, kissed him despite his attempt to hold her off. Riah looked bemused when Stephanie let him go. “I heard you were coming home for the holidays.”

He slid an arm around Riah’s shoulders but before he could introduce her, Stephanie asked, “Is this your daughter?”

It was quite clear to Casey that Stephanie didn’t think anything of the sort, that the comment was meant to emphasize how young Riah appeared. The smile plastered on Riah’s face tightened, took a slightly mean curve that made Casey wonder if he ought to take cover. She held out her hand and said, almost painfully polite, “I’m Mariah Adderly, John’s fiancée.” Her smile slid to genuine when Stephanie faltered. Casey realized his fiancée’s possessive side had its uses, so he decided that in this case he liked it. Stephanie ignored Riah’s extended hand and showed them to the large table in the back where his brothers-in-law were already seated. Riah was quickly introduced to them.

Lunch passed pleasantly. He wasn’t surprised that Riah and Daniel hit it off. Even though he was a lawyer, Casey liked the man himself. That Daniel was madly in love with his sister weighed heavily in his favor. Mark, on the other hand, was his usual quiet self. Casey sometimes wondered if his sister Jan ever let him get a word in.

When they returned to his mother’s house, Riah looked tired. His sisters hugged and kissed him, Riah, too, to her obvious surprise, and told them they had to go. He and Riah had about another hour before they had to leave in order for him to check back in with Beckman and Riah to catch her flight back to Los Angeles. Casey’s mother almost immediately sent him upstairs to pack. He wondered what she wanted to say to Riah that she wasn’t willing to say in front of him. He’d get Riah to tell him on their way back to D.C. He took his time, put his suit on once more, folded his clothes, and repacked his bag. He packed Riah’s things while he was at it, knew his mother would send her up when she was finished with her.

He turned when he heard Riah enter the room. She wore an odd look on her pale face when she sat on the bed where they had slept the night before. Curious what his mother had said to put that expression on her face, Casey was about to ask when Riah forestalled him by saying, “I think I may have just insulted your mother.”

Casey sat beside her. “How?”

Riah went on to explain that after they had talked a bit more about the wedding, his mother had handed Riah a jewelry box and told her his grandmother had given it to her when he was born, told her to pass it on to her son’s wife when they had their first child. “It was a lovely sapphire bracelet, John. Jane said she wanted me to have it, but I told her I couldn’t.”

She leaned into him. Casey wrapped an arm around her, asked why not.

“Because the baby died,” Riah whispered brokenly. She started to cry softly, so he held her tightly and let her. He heard footsteps, looked over his shoulder to see his mother in the doorway. She looked upset, but he shook his head. Rather than answer her unvoiced question, Casey leaned his cheek against the top of Riah’s head. His mother disappeared again. When Riah finally wound down, he said, “I doubt you insulted her.” The look on his mother’s face told him the other woman was sorry to have upset Riah.

After Riah pulled herself back together, Casey continued to hold her a while longer. Finally, he pressed his lips to her temple, whispered that it was time to go. She disappeared to the bathroom. When she returned, only her red-rimmed eyes gave away her upset. Casey picked up their bags and carried them downstairs.

His mother met them in the living room. She hugged Riah, told her she was glad her son had brought her to meet them. Riah, for her part, thanked her, told her she was pleased to meet her as well. His mother said she would call hers, and Riah nodded. His mother then turned to him, hugged him, and reached up to kiss his cheek. “Take care of yourself, Johnny,” she said gruffly.

“I will, Mother,” he promised.

They had put some distance between them and his mother when Casey finally said, “I think she likes you.”

Riah shot him a look. “Really?”

He nodded. “She found fault, and enumerated those faults, with Jan and Jenn’s husbands. She had nothing but nice things to say about you—to you—though.” He looked over at Riah’s surprised face. “Unless she said something while the two of you were alone.” He really hoped that had not been the case.

“No,” she assured him. “We talked about the wedding.”

That subject was the focus of their conversation as he drove. Casey supposed it was better than talking about what he was about to do. He hadn’t really found much time to study the details, but he knew what he needed to. He would have time between leaving her and catching his own flight to nail down the last few details. He listened as Riah told him she really didn’t want a big wedding. He agreed with her. The idea of a hundred or more people packed into a church or other room made him want to suggest a courthouse and just the two of them.

She talked about various venues, asked if he wanted to marry in a church, if it could be arranged, or if he would prefer somewhere else. Casey honestly didn’t care, so he told her so. Security-wise, one was about as dangerous as the other. He told her to choose whatever would make her happy. He began to realize that something troubled her since she didn’t seem fully focused on the conversation and since they had already covered some of this ground, but he decided to just let her work her way up to telling him.

“I think I’ll ask Emma to be my maid of honor,” she said. “I’m not sure if I want more attendants than that.” She looked at him and asked, “Or should I ask your sisters to be bridesmaids?”

“It’s up to you,” he told her. “I don’t think they’ll be offended if you don’t ask them, though.”

There was a long silence, which ended when Riah finally got around to what was really bothering her. “Mum called early yesterday.”

He grunted. He was sure she had, especially since Ariel knew he would be gone, her daughter would be vulnerable, and she could spill whatever poison she wanted about her daughter’s choice of husband.

“She thinks we need a prenup,” Riah said in a rush.

Casey ground his teeth. His first reaction was to be royally pissed off. He said nothing, though, unwilling to hurt Riah. He thought about it, thought about it from Ariel’s point of view. Riah was a wealthy woman. She had a trust fund that came in part from her mother, but a substantial part of her assets came from her maternal grandmother and great-grandfather. Riah owned real property as well, he knew, and he imagined Ariel figured it should be protected for any children Riah might have. It made him feel like his future mother-in-law thought he was untrustworthy—knew she thought that—though he could see why she might want her daughter’s assets protected, might see this as a way of protecting her daughter as well. “What do you think?” he asked neutrally.

“I trust you, John,” she said quietly. “I understand why Mum thinks I should make you do this, but—“

“Why?” he interrupted.

She gave him a confused look.

“Why does she think you should make me do this?” he clarified, but this time, he didn’t quite manage to control his temper.

Riah sighed heavily. “She’s afraid that if something happened to me that you might find someone else—like my father did—and she’s afraid that if we had children, they might not have anything left to inherit if you married the bimbo she thinks you would probably find.”

Those, he was certain, had been Ariel’s exact words. He gritted his teeth and crushed the steering wheel. V. H. was no saint—neither was he, for that matter. Casey didn’t womanize the way Riah’s father did, though, and he couldn’t imagine finding another woman if something happened to Riah. Then his fingers relaxed their grip and his jaw loosened. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that something could happen to Riah. Anyone else who thought the Montreal Project had paid dividends could come after her, and if they had children, they could be targets as well.

Casey was financially comfortable. He had been careful with his money, didn’t need Riah’s, and while he was certain he would not want to divorce her, he had to concede she might find a reason to divorce him, might grow tired of being left behind, might come to resent the deal she had made to marry him, and she had every right to protect what she had before they married. He supposed he could see Ariel’s point. After all, she had had all the assets in her relationships. He didn’t know what had happened when Ben MacKenzie divorced her, but he suspected she had good reason to think strategically when it came to her daughter’s wealth.

“John,” Riah said quietly, “I told her it was unnecessary.”

He couldn’t believe he was about to say this, and he couldn’t look at her when he did: “Talk to your attorney, Riah. Ariel’s right. You should protect your assets.”

He could feel Riah’s shocked stare. “John, I trust you—“

Casey cut her off. “I know you do, Riah,” he said. “If it makes your mother feel better, do it.”

“It doesn’t make me feel better,” she snapped.

That made him feel easier, he realized. He decided to be honest in return. “I can’t say I like it that your mother apparently doesn’t trust me,” he told her, “but I can understand where the impulse comes from.” He shot a look at her.

She propped her elbow on the lip of the door and leaned her head into her hand. “What if I mind?” she asked after a while.

“Your call,” he said. “Right now, though, your mother seems to be on our side. If it makes her happy, I’ll sign whatever you put in front of me.”

Riah studied him. “You really shouldn’t, you know,” she said softly. “The idea of a prenup is to protect both of us. That means you need an attorney of your own to look out for you.”

He sighed. “Riah, I don’t like this.”

“I don’t, either,” she said. “I can now tell Mum in good conscience that I talked to you about it, but we don’t want to do it.” She leaned toward him, put her hand on his thigh. “Mum doesn’t trust men, and she especially doesn’t trust men who do what you do, John. That’s her problem, not mine.”

Casey thought it would probably only make Ariel more determined to pressure her daughter into a prenup. Riah was right; her mother didn’t trust him. He couldn’t say he blamed her, all things considered. He covered Riah’s hand with his own. “I don’t want you at odds with your mother,” he told her. “If it makes her happy, I’m willing to do it.”

Riah turned her hand in his and laced her fingers through his. “I don’t care if it puts Mum and me at odds. I don’t want to do this, and I won’t.” She then changed the subject, asked if he had any objections to her inviting her mother out to begin some preliminary wedding plans. As he drove, they narrowed down what they did and didn’t want in a wedding, and they began talking about guest lists and other things. Mariah finally confessed she really wasn’t sure what all was involved in planning a wedding, and she mused on whether to consult Ellie or think about a wedding planner. Casey, who had never considered letting someone else plan his life—conveniently choosing to ignore that his original profession involved exactly that—told her to do whatever she thought best.

He drove her to Reagan, parked, and waited while she checked her bag and got her boarding pass before he walked her to where she would enter the cordoned off area where her fellow travelers wound their way to the spot where they showed ID, removed their shoes and sent their carryon bags through the x-ray machines. He was reaching for his ID when Riah looked at him. He stopped. “You need to go back to see Beckman,” she said softly. “I’ll be fine.”

She sorted through her purse for her passport. Casey wondered if she had a weapon with her, but when she didn’t flag a TSA inspector down, he assumed she didn’t. He pulled her to him and kissed her. “Don’t get killed,” she whispered again.

“I’ll try not to,” he told her softly. She reached up and kissed him again, and then she reluctantly pulled away from him and stepped into line. Casey lifted a hand when she looked back at him. Before he decided to pull his badge and call attention to her by getting her through the line and accompanying her to the waiting area, he left her there. He hoped the Gaza job would be simple and quick, so he could be home that much sooner.


	17. Chapter 17

One of these days, Casey would learn to be more careful what he wished for. It seemed like nothing went right from the moment he stepped off the plane in Israel. Crossing into the Gaza Strip had been ugly. He spotted a Mossad agent in an Israeli army uniform on the checkpoint. He retreated, lost the two men who tailed him, and finally slipped in during the dark. Unfortunately, he found his safe house had been destroyed.

He found somewhere else to stay, checked in through the pre-established channels so his boss knew he was there and safe so far, and settled in to do his job. It was a dangerous game, given Gaza was a war zone of sorts, and the Palestinians didn’t trust anyone but their own. Casey did what someone who really was what he pretended would do, but he didn’t like much of what he saw. Ironically, his cover allowed him to gather photographic evidence of what was really happening there.

Normally, he thrived on the danger, and while he was in his element, Casey exercised more caution than he might have done before Riah agreed to marry him. He fully intended to go home in one piece, so that meant he carefully calculated the odds before he acted—not that he hadn’t always done so, but this time he ran them more than once, chose more conservative actions when there was a choice to be made.

After a little more than a week essentially playing the waiting game he hated so much before spending his nights missing Riah, Casey took a risk. He called her. He knew better, but he also knew she would worry. He kept the call deliberately short as he sat at a table outside a tiny café on a back street that was more alley than street. When she answered, he said only, “I’m alive, and I love you,” before he hung up.

It wasn’t satisfactory, but he had heard her voice, even if it had only been a single word.

A day later, it all went to hell. He walked down another dark, narrow street after another rocket attack. He finally had a lead on the man he was supposed to meet, but as he looked for the right address, something crashed against the back of his skull.

 

When he came to, Casey was strapped to a chair with some kind of hood over his head. The back of his skull hurt like hell, so he supposed he ought to be glad that the hood helped mitigate the throbbing pain since it blocked any light. He also thought about the fact that his own country’s policies on interrogation—policies a number of groups thought illegal or questionable at best—might mean this would go far less well than it might have before the advent of extreme renditions and enhanced interrogation as part of the American repertoire.

Pain shot through his head when the hood was jerked off. He blinked, tried to focus on the man who stood before him. The man before him looked Arab, but Casey knew he couldn’t count on that identification. When another face swam into focus, Casey figured his luck had definitely run out.

The second man looked European, possibly American, but when he spoke, Casey heard Canada.

Surely Adderly hadn’t decided to simply get rid of him? Casey didn’t think Riah’s father would have gone to this extreme if V. H. was still pissed off about the price Riah had been asked to pay for him. He might decide to have a little fun at Casey’s expense for seducing his daughter, but this definitely wasn’t the way V. H. would do it. All those supposed jokes about molesting Riah were much more his style. Kidnapping, a little torture, maybe, weren’t.

“Major Casey!” the man said happily, for all the world as though the two of them were old friends meeting after a long absence. “You have something I want.”

“Doubt it,” Casey growled.

The man cocked his head, tsked. Casey noted his hard face, the nose that had been broken at least once, and the tiny, stitchmarked scar high on his right cheekbone, just below his eye. He was about six-one, light brown hair, hazel eyes. He was wiry, but Casey suspected he had the rangy muscle to cause a lot of pain. The way he was strapped into his chair, Casey suspected there would be a lot of pain before this was done, so he prepared himself.

Most people figured getting their minds off the pain was the best way to survive it. Casey preferred to focus on it instead. That way he was unlikely to say something he shouldn’t. He wiped Riah and Bartowski right out of his head, stared intently at the man before him, and prepared to be hurt.

“Oh, but you do,” the man said, still in that cheerful tone, and why Casey thought _cowboy_ he wasn’t sure. Something about the accent and something about the man’s posture suggested it. That made him remember Adderly’s story of his torture in East Berlin when he lost the use of his left hand. Adderly had always maintained he’d been rescued by a cowboy in high heels. Most people, Casey included, had figured the pain caused by his torture had scrambled his memory, especially since V. H. had been unable to recall how he got out of East Germany. Casey had always counted the other man’s story as true. God knew weirder things had happened to him on missions gone wrong.

The Canadian leaned down on eye-level with Casey, but he was smart enough to stay far enough away Casey couldn’t even manage a head butt. A lot of people made the mistake of getting too close, but this man didn’t. It made Casey wonder again who he was and who he worked for since it betrayed a level of competence not always found in these situations. His money was on Fulcrum, but time would tell—if he was lucky and survived whatever the other man had in mind. “Intersect, Major.”

“Not a clue,” Casey returned easily. Inside, though, he thought, _Holy shit_. It also solidified his bet on the other man’s employers.

Cowboy stepped away, and the Arab muscle hit Casey hard. His jaw ached, but his teeth were intact. He didn’t test his jaw, didn’t move it, just stared angrily back at the man in front of him. He was being tested, he knew. The man was looking for weakness, for his threshold for pain. Perhaps he should do a Bartowski the next time the muscle landed a blow, squeal like a little girl and make him think Casey couldn’t take it. That wasn’t the way he was made, though, and he figured he might get more out of the man this way than he would if he thought Casey might capitulate.

“Actually,” Cowboy drawled, “they didn’t call it an Intersect then.”

Casey kept the angry mask in place and tried to figure out what he was after. That indicated Bartowski wasn’t his target, so Casey wondered if there was another version of Bartowski running around, an earlier model, so to speak, without the upgrades. He kept his eyes on the cowboy, but from the corner of his eye, he saw the other man’s arm swing and braced for the blow to his ribs. Nothing broke, which was the important part.

“I’m told she doesn’t really function,” the man added, “but that doesn’t really matter.”

_Riah_. He only had time for that thought before he took a blow to his other side. Casey wheezed, having been caught by surprise. He berated himself, told himself he should have expected it—the insinuation about Riah as well as the blow—especially since the cowboy was a Canadian.

“You’re hard as rock, aren’t you?” Cowboy asked as his muscle rubbed his fist. “Probably just as stubborn if the stories can be believed, but Hamid will get you to talk. Of course, he’s more interested in who you’re here to meet.” Cowboy flashed a grin. “Me, I want Mariah Adderly.”

 

There wasn’t a part of Casey that didn’t hurt when Hamid took a break. He was pretty sure he had some cracked ribs, knew two of his fingers were broken, and if the man kept hitting his face, his black eye was likely to be joined by a broken jaw—assuming Hamid didn’t do permanent damage to the eye. So far he’d kept his teeth, though some of them had to be loose by now. He hoped Hamid’s fists hurt nearly as badly.

Cowboy swam into view, so Casey glared at him. “We’ll leave you to think about things for a little while.”

He didn’t have to think, but when they were gone, he considered his hands. They were strapped individually to the low arms of the chair bolted to the floor. He knew it was bolted to the floor because it hadn’t had any give when the bastard pounded on him. His legs were shackled to the chair’s metal legs, and it had all been expertly done. Casey wasn’t getting loose any time soon.

In a moment of grim pragmatism, he wondered what was coming, because the cuffed straps reminded him of what he’d seen on electric chairs that had once been used for executions.

While he pounded on Casey, Hamid had continually questioned him in Arabic about why he was in Gaza. Casey had ignored his questions, though once, just to play along, Casey had told him his mother must have fucked camels to produce him. That’s when the man lost control enough to crack Casey’s ribs. Until then, Casey knew, he was being hit hard enough to hurt him but not seriously damage him. Something changed, or Hamid decided his agreement with Cowboy was null and void because Hamid broke Casey’s fingers when he suggested maybe the asshole doing the damage was the one who fucked camels.

He thought hard. Until the moment Hamid broke his ribs, they had been playing with him. If they were smart, they would string him up and work the back as well as the front. They would eventually do him some serious damage if they kept covering the same ground. He suspected Cowboy was humoring Hamid but wouldn’t let him kill Casey yet, but that made no sense. If Cowboy wanted Riah, then all he had to do was go to Los Angeles where she was alone with no protection other than what was in the apartment and what she could provide for herself. Casey had taught her a few things, and so had the refresher course at the Institute. Regardless, there were any number of opportunities for someone to take her with him gone: on her way to and from the Buy More, while she was at the Buy More, a false delivery to get her to open the apartment door were only a few of the many possibilities. He sincerely doubted anyone could break in and not trigger any of the fail-safes he had built into the security plan.

As a result, Casey couldn’t imagine why the man wanted him. His only use was as bait for Riah, he presumed, based on what the Canadian had said, but he didn’t think Riah would fall for any ploy that might draw her out of California—not alone, anyway. Casey was certain she was too smart for that. She’d check, ask questions, make sure she had backup before she took action.

A chill went through him as it occurred to him she might not get a chance.

They could snatch her, but he liked to think she took enough precautions to make that difficult for them. Bartowski could be collateral damage if he was with her, but as long as they weren’t on their way to and from work, there was a good chance Walker would be in tow if that opportunity presented itself, and Casey knew he could count on his partner to see to it both were safe.

When he got out of this, his first call would be to Walker, and the second would be to Ellerby. Two agencies watching Riah should improve the odds, and Walker’s first priority—rightfully so—would be Bartowski. Even if Cowboy had the wrong target, it was always possible he and his people might be able to correct course, realize Bartowski was the real Intersect. It wasn’t the first time someone had made the mistake of thinking Riah was the one, so Casey was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the last.

Thinking back to Kellett putting Riah through her paces, he wondered what they would do when they got her. Unlike Bartowski, her intel was old and difficult to retrieve. It took her seeing the encoded pictures, he’d finally realized, to get her to work, unlike Bartowski who simply had to see a face or object or hear a voice or the right words. Riah’s limitations made her an iffy prospect at best. Of course, if they were looking for a pet Intersect, she was a smart choice if they had the technology to make her like Bartowski. She was being forced out of ISI, and the American government was only concerned about any possible threats she might pose to either Bartowski or national security—not what might be locked in her head. In fact, Casey was a little surprised an elimination order hadn’t been sent rather than DNI letting him marry her.

For several long moments, he pondered whether or not Beckman might have arranged this simply to facilitate that very scenario. In the end, he concluded even the General wouldn’t damage their relationship with the Canadians by doing that. There would be an international incident—V. H. would insist on it.

It next occurred to Casey to wonder why Beckman hadn’t considered hedging her bets with two Intersects. Bartowski was an accident, admittedly, but Larkin, the one who was originally intended to house it, was still breathing—or breathing again, anyway. Then he wondered if the General might not have done exactly that.

Even as he experienced the bite and snap of anger over the idea that he might have been kept in the dark about the bigger picture, it hit him, as the truth sometimes did, bubbled up from beneath the problem he worked: there was something in Riah’s head this man either wanted or wanted to make sure was never retrieved.

“She’s a beautiful little thing, isn’t she?” Cowboy’s voice said quietly from behind him. It reminded Casey of what Riah had said when he took that black leather corset off her that long ago afternoon. “She still wear those tiny excuses for underwear?”

Casey forced himself to sit still, made himself stifle the instinctive, furious growl even as his aching jaw went rigid and his good hand fisted. He reminded himself that this man might have touched her—for which Casey would break every bone in his hands—but he hadn’t had her.

“Her dad sent the cavalry to Edmonton before anyone got a taste,” the man continued. “We never got a thing out of her—but I hear Kellett and Laurance did.”

When Cowboy stepped around to face him, Casey fought for calm. Cowboy was going to be a dead man, first chance Casey got, and it was going to be very, very personal when it happened. Cowboy gave him a crooked smile, one that said he knew exactly what Casey thought. “What’s she taste like, Casey?”

He ground his teeth. He wished he could get loose, wished he could punish the man in front of him for what he’d done to Riah. He considered a number of very painful methods of punishment it would be his pleasure to use before he finally let the man die.

“Come on,” Cowboy prodded. “You’ve done her. Inquiring minds want to know.”

If he lost his temper, they would know this was how to crack him. He was close, though, considered the kind of pain he could put Cowboy through despite the damage Casey had already sustained. Then he tamped the anger back down again, rethought what they were after yet again. Riah could be the diversion, but if that were the case, then what they were really after was Bartowski—or they really were after the name of his contact here.

Assuming he was still in Gaza.

The room offered no clues. It looked a lot like a windowless hotel room. He could be anywhere, and Hamid could simply be window dressing.

He took a moment to wonder where Hamid was.

Cowboy cocked his head, stared down at Casey. “She’s not your usual type, Casey. Little Mariah’s got the wrong hair color for one—although maybe you could tell me if she’s a natural blonde?”

Ignoring that, mainly because the costs for not doing so were high, Casey further considered what he’d do to the man if he ever got free and was still able to inflict harm. It wasn’t just going to be the hands. He was going to castrate the man.

“Aw,” Cowboy drawled with false sympathy, “not in the mood to talk, are we?”

“You apparently are,” Casey growled, then regretted having said anything at all. It would have been better not to engage.

“That I am,” the man returned cheerfully. “I hope I get a wedding invitation.”

Casey said nothing, didn’t even glare at the man as he considered how he could possibly know he and Riah were getting married. It wasn’t public knowledge yet, was only known outside of their families by Bartowski, his sister, and her fiancée. He knew the man wouldn’t have gotten it from Casey’s family, and he doubted the man was on Ariel Taylor’s confidants’ list. Emma was unlikely to spread the news, nor was V. H. likely to tell anyone just yet. Beckman and his government knew, though, and so did Riah’s. This man must have sources inside ISI, and even if V. H. had said nothing, a handful of functionaries would have had to know, and someone must have talked.

“Then again, she’s never making it to that altar.”

_Here we go_ , Casey thought. Here was the part where the other man threatened her, promised to kill her if Casey didn’t give them whatever they were after. He knew his mind was supposed to run wild, he was supposed to worry, and he was supposed to fear. Finally, he was supposed to give in to save her. Riah, he knew, would understand when he didn’t.

The problem was, he did—fear for her.

He was better off to let the man talk, let him come to the point, Casey knew, so he held his tongue, waited. It didn’t take long before the man’s eyes hardened. “Except in a casket.”

So he wanted her dead, not alive, Casey reflected. That wasn’t going to happen, not if he had anything to say about it. “What is it you think she knows?” he asked. He could risk the question. It was unlikely Cowboy would answer, but if he was arrogant enough, he just might, and Casey would have another piece of the puzzle.

“That’s none of your business,” the other man said. That response irritated the hell out of Casey since it reminded him of a playground bully. It was clearly his business given the man had him trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey and was intent on taunting him. It was his business, too, because Riah was his.

As he leaned back against a desk, crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head, Cowboy studied Casey. “You should never have had the opportunity to ask her to marry you,” he continued. “She should have been dead several times over by now.” Casey caught the flood of anger in his eyes. He wondered at the force of it. Riah had made a very serious enemy, but Casey couldn’t imagine how. “She certainly shouldn’t have survived at the Institute.”

“You should have sent a better shot after her.”

Cowboy’s response to Casey’s crack was to double up his fist and swing. Casey’s head snapped back as it connected. Fortunately, the other man caught his cheek and eye, not the jaw, but it hurt all the more for it. His eye would swell shut, which would decrease his field of vision. He might need that before this was over.

“You shouldn’t have been there, and you shouldn’t have saved her,” Cowboy ground out. “She shouldn’t exist, and she’s a menace. Her father should have learned long ago that the inevitable _will_ happen.”

“What is it you think she knows?” Casey asked again. Maybe the man would get pissed off enough to give up why he had it in for Riah. The guy thought he had the upper hand after all, thought Casey wasn’t getting out of his current situation, so he might just be stupid enough to tell him what he was after.

“I’m not that big an imbecile, Casey,” the other man chided.

He stepped out of sight then, so Casey tested his shackles. He’d already figured out he wasn’t going to be able to break his thumbs to get his hands free, but he wondered if he couldn’t tear them loose somehow.

When they finally returned—Casey wasn’t sure how long they had been gone—Hamid was up again, and when the other man was finished, none the wiser about who Casey’s contact was or why he had been sent to Gaza in the first place, all Casey was aware of was that there didn’t seem to be an inch of his body that didn’t throb painfully except his back. He was bleeding in several places since Hamid had decided to play with knives. The other man had left mostly superficial wounds, though, nothing Casey thought was likely to leave a scar. Apparently, they needed him alive a while longer, and that begged the question of why.

They had to know that Casey checked in regularly. They had to know that when he missed more than one contact point, it would be noted and the search would start. Unless they had disposed of his vest, his tracker was still inside the lining, and it could be activated remotely, would be if he continued to not check in. He suspected Cowboy wanted that, so Casey wondered if he believed Beckman would send whomever or whatever he was really after to retrieve him.

The other man had to know they wouldn’t send Riah, had to know she was effectively out of the business since he knew she and Casey were getting married, so Casey figured the Canadian was simply looking to get Riah alone, without protection, so she could be taken. Beckman might, after all, send Walker, though he doubted it. Given the situation on the ground in Gaza, it was more likely she’d send a special ops team—if she sent anyone at all.

He couldn’t keep track of time, especially not when Hamid hit him hard enough to knock him out. It seemed to Casey, as he was brought around the third time, that they were getting more serious, and he wondered when the beating would give way to actual torture. They weren’t getting what they claimed they wanted, so he was pretty sure torture was next on the agenda.

Several of his ribs were actually broken by then. If they kept hitting his chest, he was going to wind up with a punctured lung if not worse. He suspected at least one bone in his left leg was broken as well, the product of a vicious series of kicks inflicted by Hamid when Casey had asked if his sister was the whore he’d met his first night in Gaza City. He supposed he ought to be grateful the man hadn’t just decided to geld him.

It was curious, though, that the man had gone for the leg when he could have really done Casey some serious damage elsewhere. That told him they were intent on prolonging this. With that thought, he finished his inventory: two broken fingers, several loose teeth, and both his eyes were black (but only one was completely swollen shut), more bruises than he could count, and several superficial cuts that bled enough to annoy.

It would be nice to finally get it over with, but then he remembered he’d promised Riah he’d try not to get killed.

“Last call, Major,” Cowboy announced. Casey noted the jaunty tone as well as the words that indicated they might be about to try and finish him. Casey figured it was another ploy. “I want to know what your little fiancée has told you about what’s locked in her head.”

“Nothing,” he said. He could give that away, especially since it had the benefit of not being a lie.

“You expect me to believe that?”

Casey couldn’t see him clearly. “Truth,” he mumbled. Let him think he was on his last legs.

“A lot of people want her,” the other man continued, “and not just because of that tight little body of hers.”

He made himself not react to that, which wasn’t as difficult as it should have been, but he did add another black mark in his mental reasons-to-kill-Cowboy column.

“If it makes a difference,” Cowboy said, “I’m not after the state secrets.”

It didn’t matter at all. Casey still kept himself impassive, but his mind raced. That meant she knew something else, but he was at a loss as to what it could be.

“No?” Cowboy sighed then. “I’m not even after what you Americans call the Intersect in her head.”

It was tempting to demonstrate his skepticism, but Casey remained silent, immobile. The man seemed on the edge of telling him what it was he wanted.

“I’d hate to let Hamid kill you before I get what I’m after.”

That clicked for Casey. The man had to know anything in Riah’s head was virtually impossible to retrieve. He’d had a chance to torture it out of her himself, but Cowboy hadn’t succeeded. The question was why they were playing with Casey. Why didn’t they get down to business? Why were they simply hurting him without really, seriously, interrogating him?

The answer had to be they needed him occupied and Riah unprotected.

It was the only picture he could make with the pieces spread before him. There were other possibilities, he was sure, but he had reached the most logical conclusion. Casey sincerely hoped she wasn’t alone when they came for her, hoped someone who knew what they were doing was at hand and could take care of whomever Cowboy sent for her.

Maybe it really was Bartowski they wanted, he thought after more blows landed, and maybe they thought Beckman would send Special Agent Carmichael to rescue Casey. The kid was largely untrained, so Beckman wasn’t about to put him into a place like Gaza, not when there were real spies to do the job. However, the name Carmichael had begun to circulate, and a lot of the speculation connected it to the Intersect. They’d dealt with others who wanted to know exactly how it connected.

For that matter, Beckman might decide Casey was expendable after all, might cut her losses, assume he had already compromised Bartowski and the NSA and decide to let him meet his fate rather than rescue him.

As a result, he gave Cowboy what he probably didn’t want to hear: “Let him kill me.” Casey didn’t mean it, but he hoped his false capitulation might get the Canadian to slip.

“Oh, no, Major,” Cowboy laughed. “You don’t get off that easily.” Casey focused on the man’s face. “We’ll wait a little longer, I think.” Cowboy straightened then. “Spend the time considering the state of your immortal soul, Casey. I’m sure that will keep you occupied a good long while.”

He heard a door close. It was the first time, Casey realized, and he wondered if they had really left him alone in the room or if there was a goon like Hamid—possibly Hamid—lurking out of sight. What they thought Casey would be able to do, he couldn’t imagine. They had to know he wasn’t getting loose, and even if he did, just enough damage had been done to him to seriously impede any break for freedom he might make—especially the broken leg. It wouldn’t stop him from waiting for an opportunity, but he was damaged enough he was going to need some help to get out of this.

Slumping in the chair, Casey wondered if Riah was safe, wondered if they were only waiting to make sure she had been secured before they killed him.

When they came back, there was a third man with them, one he recognized, and this time, they got down to business.

 

\-------X--------

 

On New Year’s Eve, Ellie made Chuck drag Mariah over to the small party she and Devon hosted in their own apartment. Despite her protests that she would rather stay home, Chuck told her his sister would only come get her. He assured her his sister would be mean, underhanded, manipulative or whatever would make Mariah cross the courtyard. Mariah knew she would do it, too. Besides, she would only sit home and worry about John if she didn’t.

As a distraction, it wasn’t much of one. Mariah really wasn’t a partygoer. Her mother thrived on socializing, but Mariah was too introverted to like having to talk to people she didn’t really know or couldn’t be herself with. She managed it for the job, but in that case, she got to pretend she was someone she wasn’t. When she walked in with Chuck, she noticed it was mostly the same crowd who attended Ellie and Devon’s Halloween party months earlier. She smiled, spoke when spoken to, and missed John, more so since she would have been home with him had he not been gone.

When Kavanaugh approached her, though, she went stiff, wondered if she could find a place to hide. His eyes dropped to her left hand, which cradled a cocktail glass filled with a Perfect Manhattan. Mariah had decided that the only way to get through this was with a significant amount of alcohol, and the Perfect Manhattan fit the bill—it contained two kinds of vermouth with the bourbon rather than just one. She wished there had been rye, her preference for mixed drinks, but the bourbon would do.

“I see Casey made it official,” Kavanaugh pleasantly said, but Mariah’s eyes narrowed, deeply suspicious of his statement and the lack of smirk in his tone. She steeled herself, lifted the glass for a fortifying sip. Kavanaugh often pounced when she least expected it. “Congratulations.”

That didn’t sound at all sincere, but Mariah didn’t hold it against him. She had never once heard anything sincere from him. Nonetheless, she answered politely. “Thank you.”

Her suspicions were fully in place; as a result, she wasn’t taken by surprise when he added, “That ring must cost—what?—thirty grand, give or take?” He shook his head. “Wonder how Casey afforded it.”

After Devon Woodcomb dragged him off to meet someone else, Mariah switched the glass to her other hand and studied her engagement ring. She’d never once given a single thought to what the ring cost. She had spent a lot of time admiring it—which made her feel shallow—so she knew it had come from Tiffany’s. That hadn’t made her consider the price tag. Kavanaugh was likely in the ballpark, she realized, and she wondered that no one else—other than John’s sisters—had commented on it.

Later, when midnight had come and the toasts were made, she quietly left the party and went home. After she changed into a pair of flannel pants and a t-shirt, she booted her laptop, went to Tiffany’s website, and found her ring. She read it three times before it sank in: “Priced from $28,600.”

Her Subaru hadn’t cost that much, not even when the previous owner bought it new.

She swallowed thickly, looked at the ring on her hand, and felt her chest seize. Not for a single second did she believe John had done anything underhanded to buy that ring for her, but she did wonder why he had spent that much. She focused on the platinum and diamonds circling her finger and on her breathing. He shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t have taken her seriously when she told him in Banff what she wanted. Truthfully, she would have been happy with anything he gave her, regardless of its size, stone, or metal. She would have been happy without the ring, for that matter.

Then, she was angry that she had let Kavanaugh upset her so. John had told his sisters he could afford it, so Mariah would simply have to believe him.

As it turned out, she didn’t have to take it on faith. The day after New Year’s, there was an imperious knocking on her door as she finished breakfast. She and Chuck were riding to work together that morning, but that was definitely not Chuck’s knock. When she dropped the panel and looked at the screen behind it, she saw a suited man she didn’t recognize. When asked, he held his badge and ID up to the camera.

“Miss Adderly?” he asked when she opened the door, still on its chain.

She nodded but didn’t admit him.

He held up his ID again. Mariah noted he was NSA. “Major Casey asked that these be delivered to you,” he told her briskly and took a manila envelope from where it had been trapped against his body by his left arm. She reached for it, saw her name neatly typed on the front. He took a pad of paper from a pocket and a pen. “Sign, please,” he said as he extended them toward her. She signed the receipt and took her copy before watching him walk away.

Bemused, she wondered what on earth John would have sent her she needed to sign for. She shrugged, closed the door, and took the envelope to the couch. Mariah quickly flipped through the neatly clipped stacks of paper she found inside. The first set of documents was from a bank; the second two had a cover letter from an attorney whose practice was located in John’s hometown and held a power of attorney and a will. The last item from the package was a letter-sized envelope that bore only her first name in John’s distinctive scrawl.

She read the documents while she waited for Chuck. She started with the sealed envelope. It was a note from John, told her that since he didn’t know how long he’d be gone, he was providing her with the power of attorney, had added her name to his bank accounts—though she would have to go to the local branch and sign some paperwork—and asked that she pay his bills, manage his affairs until he was home. The apartment was paid for by the government—Mariah had wondered, and when she had asked if she needed to pay part of the rent shortly after she arrived, John had given her a don’t-be-a-moron look. They paid the utilities as well. John listed his bills and the dates on which she was to pay them. He had a bank lien on the Vic, she noted, a few credit cards, and utilities on his house in Maryland. There was no mortgage, though, which surprised her.

When she looked at his bank records, she lifted her brows, surprised by the balance. She wondered if John ever spent money, and then she snorted. He obviously did, but he apparently lived well below his means, based on what she saw as she ran her eyes down the monthly debits from his account. There were investments as well, she noticed, flipping through the attached statements for a retirement account separate from his government pension and for his stock portfolio, bonds, and several CDs.

She thought about the prenup her mother suggested, and she wondered that John hadn’t jumped at it. Then, she realized he was simply returning her faith in him.

The power of attorney was straightforward. There was a medical power of attorney there as well, one that gave her authority to make care and treatment choices for him. That gave her qualms she had not had before. Old suspicions died hard, and she remembered again the superstition of her trainers at the Institute.

The will downright spooked her, though. It had been amended and revised, left some of John’s assets to various family members but left the rest to her. This, this document convinced her John wasn’t sure he was coming home alive, but she didn’t want to believe that, didn’t want him to believe that.

It was a possibility, though, and she knew it. What her mother had said when they told her they were getting married came back to her then. It might not be missing appendages—it might be dead. She shivered; then she jumped when a knock that was obviously Chuck’s sounded on her door. She gathered the papers up, let Chuck in, and told him she needed to go upstairs. She put the papers with her own, and went downstairs to go to the Buy More.

 

John had been gone nearly two weeks when Mariah began to get antsy. He had called her a few days before, woke her from a shallow sleep to talk to her for less than fifteen seconds. He’d taken a huge chance to say, “I’m alive, and I love you.” He hadn’t waited for her to reply before he hung up.

Unable to take another night alone, she invited Ellie over for dinner. Because she had an odd craving for chicken, a meat she rarely ate, she made coq au vin, homemade French bread, and a rustic apple tart with sweetened cream for dessert. After dinner, she and Ellie sat on the couch and talked about wedding plans. Mariah didn’t have a clue where to start, so Ellie began giving her a crash course on what would need to be done and an idea of the timeline involved. Mariah sat dazed as Ellie talked about finding a venue, invitations, save the date cards—which Ellie said needed to go out pretty much immediately since they were getting married in less than seven months—and the reception.

Mariah listened and wasn’t at all sure she was up to this. It sounded more daunting than planning and executing a field operation deep in enemy territory against vastly superior numbers without any information about the situation on the ground and no back up available. As she watched Ellie make lists and listened to her talk through what needed to be done, Mariah decided she wanted to just elope and to hell with her mother and John’s.

That, of course, was never going to happen, though she felt confident she could convince John to simply go somewhere and quietly get married and then just announce what they had done.

There was a knock on her front door. Mariah assumed it was probably Chuck home from his date with Sarah Walker. She pulled the door open, laughing at something Ellie said about booze for the reception, and turned to see two strangers on her doorstep.

Two strangers in uniform.

Two strangers wearing U.S. Marine Corps service uniforms, one a lieutenant colonel and the other a captain.

The captain sported insignia that marked him as a chaplain.

She slammed the door closed before they could speak and flipped the locks before she started to shake uncontrollably. Mariah prayed they’d just go away, that she had imagined them. She had never hoped so hard in her life to have hallucinated. Ellie shot off the couch, said her name. The other woman’s shocked concern got through Mariah’s rising panic, but it did nothing to kill it.

Ellie stood in front of her, but Mariah couldn’t focus. She was overwhelmed by pain, overwhelmed by the only possible explanation for what was on the other side of that door—assuming she wasn’t really asleep on the couch and imagining all this. Ellie’s voice sounded like it came from a distance, from under water, which meant her words really didn’t sink in enough Mariah could decode what she said. Chuck’s sister took hold of her upper arms and said her name again. Mariah fought for the breath to say, “Don’t open the door.”

The other woman frowned at her and started to move her away from the door so she could do precisely that, but Mariah planted her feet despite feeling lightheaded. “Don’t open the door,” she repeated. “Don’t open the door, Ellie. Don’t let them in. Whatever you do, don’t let them in. Please, don’t let them in.” She knew she was begging, but she didn’t care. She could feel something wet on her cheeks, but she didn’t care about that, either.

Ellie looked alarmed. Then a male voice came through from the other side of the door. “Miss Adderly?”

Confusion followed by suspicion shifted Ellie’s expression. “Adderly?”

As a possible distraction from what she wanted to make go away, Mariah nearly jumped on it. Instead, she closed her eyes. It probably didn’t matter that Ellie knew her real name, especially since Mariah knew what the two officers on the other side of the door must be there to tell her. It was finished. All of it. “My father’s name,” she said faintly, and, strangely, explaining gained her a measure of control. “I usually use my mother’s,” she lied smoothly.

“Mariah, who’s on the other side of the door?” Ellie asked.

She started shaking again, and not just because crushing memories of all that had happened the last time John had been gone momentarily flooded out the panic caused by what the men outside her door must be there tell her. That thought didn’t push back the pain; it merely redirected it toward a newer, sharper pain and renewed her panic. “Please, _please_ , don’t let them in. I don’t want to hear it.”

They pounded on the door again. Mariah jumped in response. Ellie knew an opportunity when she saw one, so she moved her and opened the door. Mariah hugged her arms around her abdomen, watched her friend stiffen when she saw the two men. The lieutenant colonel looked around Ellie at Mariah and asked, “Miss Adderly?”

Mariah’s spine jerked straight, and she pulled herself together a moment. She pointed at the senior officer. “If you dare say, ‘I regret to inform you,’” she bit out, “I swear to God I’ll shoot the both of you.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language warning.

The chaplain’s lips twitched; Ellie looked horrified. “You are?” he asked Ellie, who told him her name and then said she was Mariah’s friend. Weirdly, Mariah was comforted a little by Ellie’s assertion. She hadn’t had that many real friends in her life, but she clung to Ellie’s claim, focused on it, because she didn’t want to hear what the two men were about to tell her. She recognized the formation. After all, she had gone with her father to tell the wives, husbands, and partners of operatives killed in the line of duty that they had lost a spouse. Only John wasn’t her husband yet, and she ached, realized Jane Casey was probably getting the same visit. The phone began to ring then, but she swallowed thickly.

Or Jane had just had it.

She chose not to answer the ringing phone. Her first priority was to get rid of the two uniforms in her apartment as quickly as possible. Only then could she deal with the cause of their visit.

The chaplain stepped forward and started to cup her elbow. Mariah wrenched away from him, furious that he dared to try and touch her. He held both his hands up, palms toward her, and indicated his surrender. Her chest hurt; it was painful to draw breath because her chest felt like it was collapsing, like it was being crushed. The lieutenant colonel talked softly to Ellie, but Mariah refused to listen to their conversation, refused to look, refused to see when Ellie realized why they were there.

“Perhaps you would like to sit,” the chaplain said.

Mariah glared at him. “Perhaps you would like to leave,” she bit out.

The phone still rang in the background, but Mariah didn’t take the distraction it offered. It would simply be someone who had just found out calling to commiserate, and she couldn’t take that, not at that moment. Nor did she particularly care that she had just been rude to a man who was only there to do his duty.

The notion of duty simply reminded her of John, but she still didn’t waver. She was suddenly furious, coldly, darkly angry. She let that idea distract her a moment, since it always surprised her that anger wasn’t a hot emotion for her, despite its depth and strength. What she grasped for, grappled with, was at whom that anger was directed: the men in front of her, John, or whoever was responsible for the news these two wanted to give her.

Ellie sniffed, and Mariah’s eyes found her. She hated the pity she saw there. It took a moment before she reminded herself it wasn’t Ellie’s fault, though she wanted to blame the other woman. Mariah simply couldn’t decide what to blame her for: for being witness to this; for opening the door so Mariah had to face those two men, those two Marines, and their message; for getting to go home later to her living, breathing fiancé; or for pitying her. Intellectually, she was sorry for the thought, especially since she knew Ellie was a kind soul, but a part of Mariah resented the hell out of Ellie’s perfect little life.

Only Ellie’s life wasn’t exactly perfect, she remembered. Ellie’s parents had abandoned her to raise a brother not all that much younger than she, and what that brother had in his head meant she might one day get this kind of visit. Nearly everyone in Ellie’s life, including Mariah, lied to her in one way or another, but so far the other woman remained unaware of the duplicity around her.

“Mariah,” she said, “let’s sit and let them say what they have to.”

She started to refuse, but she couldn’t be rude to Ellie the way she had been to the uniforms. The sooner they got this over, the sooner she could be alone again, could let the pain take over for a little while before she set about doing what needed doing. As a result, she steeled herself to do her own duty. She let Ellie steer her to the couch and seat her on the cushions. Ellie sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her.

“I—“ the lieutenant colonel started but then stopped when Mariah gave him a cold, hard, narrow-eyed stare. He broke off, coughed, then tried again: “We received word that Major John Casey was killed in action this morning. I am sorry for your loss.”

Oddly, Mariah found it a little easier to take the stark statement rather than the kinder, gentler version they normally gave family. It didn’t keep her lungs from locking so that she couldn’t draw air, nor did it keep her from feeling so faint the room dimmed. The words were out there, and no matter how badly she wished it, they couldn’t be taken back. She leaned into Ellie, who tightened her grip on her. Mariah heard a quick sob escape her friend.

She held her own inside.

The senior officer started to tell her what had happened, but Mariah knew it for the lie it was and stopped him. He’d only managed to get out something about an IED and the Anwar Province before Mariah hissed, “I don’t need to know the specifics.” Someone from the NSA or, perhaps, Walker would tell her the truth. She wondered if John had been caught in one of the rocket attacks in Gaza or if he had been recognized, captured and killed. She closed her eyes, tried not to cry. It was easier if she couldn’t see them. She wanted the uniforms out of her home before she grieved for John.

When she felt a little more in control, she pushed away from Ellie, sat up, gave the lieutenant colonel a frosty look. “Thank you for coming,” she told him. Then, more sharply than she probably should have, she ordered, “Please leave.”

The two officers looked at one another uneasily. Mariah could tell they didn’t want to go. “ _Please leave_ ,” she repeated more forcefully. “You’ve discharged your duty, and I’d like to be alone now.”

“Miss Adderly,” the chaplain began, but Mariah shook her head.

“I have things to do,” she bit out. “Please. Just go.”

Mariah was absolutely certain the two men would refuse to leave her, and she wondered what recourse she had when they did. With Ellie present, her options were limited, but she really did relish what she had told them when they first arrived. She’d really love to shoot them—if for no other reason than they were the ones to tell her John was dead.

Her heart crumpled at that, but then she jerked herself away from the dark edges closing in on her. Get them out, get Ellie out if she could, then find out what really happened. She had to hold it together long enough to find out what really happened. Mariah focused on each breath, in and out, while she held panic and grief at bay.

It was readily apparent, though, that they had no intention of leaving, and then it sank in that the chaplain looked seriously pissed off, really, seriously angry that she had ordered them to leave. She supposed she’d just offended him, but she didn’t know a single clergyman who didn’t understand anger in the face of news like that they had just delivered or who would show that irritation to a grieving family member. He looked too old to be inexperienced at this, and Mariah, for the first time since she had seen them at her door, considered whether he was actually what he claimed.

The very idea shook her.

She chased it, though. Ran the possibilities, and she did not like any of the conclusions she reached.

There was something decidedly not right in this. Of course, she told herself, she could have just had the misfortune to get assigned the one chaplain who was lousy at his job, but she really didn’t think so when she stared at the lieutenant colonel and realized he wore a sidearm—definitely not normal protocol in this kind of situation. Something was very, very wrong here, and then she realized Beckman would have been the one who told her what had happened to John—if something had actually happened to him, that was. Beckman wouldn’t have let the Marine Corps send someone. If she had sent a proxy, Mariah was certain it would have been Sarah Walker, perhaps Paul Patterson.

There was another knock on her door, and Mariah couldn’t help wondering who this would be. She supposed it could be Walker or whomever General Beckman had sent to tell her. It was possible the Marines had simply sent someone of their own accord when they learned of John’s death, but why they would have provided a story as patently false as the one these men had given her, she couldn’t fathom, though she supposed Ellie’s presence might have necessitated some misdirection.

Whoever knocked on her door could provide her assistance if there was another reason these two men were here and if what they had told her truly was a lie. Of course, they could just as easily be with the men in front of her, so Mariah began to worry about what would happen to Ellie if that were the case.

The captain went to the door while Mariah watched impassively, wondered if they knew who she was since they knew her real name, wondered if they knew what she was, and wondered if she could get to any of the weapons John kept stashed around the living room.

Her father came through the door first, and she pushed off the couch and launched herself at him. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezed her so tightly she couldn’t catch her breath until he released her. The fact that he was even there made her second guess the thoughts she’d had before the door had been opened to him.

She broke then. The tears came, thicker than before, so she was only vaguely aware of other voices behind her. She clung to her father and poured her heart out into his shoulder. He tried to ease her away a couple of times, but she only hung on tighter. She heard him say something to someone else, but she didn’t listen to what. Then her father began to walk her backwards. He eased her on her couch and then sat beside her.

Ellie, Mariah saw, sat in John’s nearby chair, her face pale. She presumed her father had introduced himself. He gave Mariah that grave look she generally saw when he was worried about her. She wanted desperately not to feel anything, not even guilt for worrying her father. The others seemed to be gone, though there was one uniform that came toward them. Mariah refused to look higher, see who it was. She felt the couch sag beside her. She tried to muster the strength to order this uniform out, too, but then she heard Paul Patterson’s gruff voice say, “John would be seriously pissed off if he knew they had upset his pretty little girl so.”

For some reason, that made her choke on a laugh and try and pull herself back together. “They said John. . . .” She couldn’t finish it.

Her father shifted his grip on her. “Mariah, I’m sorry,” he said, and she started to cry again, convinced it might, after all, be true. This time, the sobs began to edge toward hysteria. She could feel what calm remained slipping away from her, so much so she could tell the others talked, but she couldn’t make out the words. She buried her face against her father and bawled in a way she hadn’t done since she was a small child. Then, she felt someone move her sleeve, felt a kind of pinch and then a pricking sensation. For once, she was glad to be sedated.

General Patterson took her hand as whatever Ellie had given her started to take effect. He told her firmly, “Mariah, you need to listen.”

She tried hard to stop the crying, the sobs, but she couldn’t quite make them go away.

“Sweetheart,” her father said, “they were wrong.”

She would have said she knew if she hadn’t seen Ellie and was reminded that they had an audience who couldn’t know the truth. The cover story was that John was in Afghanistan. Mariah, though, had been well aware of his true assignment. “I know what must have happened,” she choked out.

“No, honey, you don’t,” her father said. “Casey’s on his way to Germany. He’s injured, not dead.”

The General squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, Mariah. We tried to intercept them when we found out what happened. I tried to call you directly, but you weren’t answering your phone.”

She looked over at him and saw his open, honest expression, and she started to believe.

“Honey, you need to pack. We’re going to take you to him,” her father said.

She stared at him. “He’s not dead?” she asked faintly.

He shook his head.

“How—how badly is he hurt?”

“Badly enough.”

Mariah began to shake again, her thoughts increasingly difficult to latch onto as the sedative took effect. When she heard Ellie offer to pack for her, Mariah nodded at her friend. Her father offered to go upstairs Ellie to help her. He gently released Mariah, who nearly protested until she remembered Ellie had never been upstairs, didn’t know where their room was. She also remembered the things Ellie might find upstairs that would raise more questions than the woman probably already had.

After her father and Ellie climbed the stairs, General Patterson solemnly studied her. Mariah read his obvious concern on his face. “He was taken, badly beaten, Mariah, but he’s alive. He’s asked for you—insisted you be brought to him, in fact.” There was a flash of grin, one that reshaped his face in ways that reminded her he was still a handsome man. “Threatened to come get you himself, if you want to know the truth, but the doctors convinced him that was not a good idea.”

After he sobered again, he gave her a concerned stare. “They were here for you, Mariah, not to tell you John was dead.” She felt herself pale. “Well, they were here to tell you that as well, so they could convince you to go with them without a struggle.”

Mariah felt the shakes start again, let him pull her against him, and closed her eyes.

“John’s furious,” the General continued. “Fucked up his assignment—not John,” he swiftly assured her when he read her horror that John might once more be in trouble with his boss because of her, “some cowboy, he claims, with a Canadian accent.”

She really was going to faint, she thought. She could see the man who’d tortured her in Edmonton clearly, could hear that western Canadian drawl as he said horrid, horrible, frightening things with an easy charm that made them uglier than they would otherwise have been. She remembered the way her flesh crawled when he touched her. Then, when the fury flooded in that he had hurt John, this time her anger burned hot, deep reds.

“I know him,” she ground out. It wasn’t completely true, but she knew who it must be.

“Whoever he was, he managed to escape,” Paul told her, “which is why John told us to get here and get here right away.”

“How long?” she asked.

“Not long,” Paul assured her. “Your father was in Los Angeles when Casey called. V. H. was planning to come see you anyway.”

The sedative really had kicked in, she supposed, since she didn’t feel any hurt at learning her father had come to town and not told her. He was probably with Mona Ellerby when the call came. If he’d been with someone else, she didn’t want to know. She refocused on John. “How badly is he really hurt?”

She felt the sigh escape Paul more than she heard it since the floating feeling sedatives often gave her washed through her. “Some broken bones, cuts, bruises,” he admitted, “but he’ll be fine.”

Thankful, she nodded. “Are you going with me?”

He squeezed her again before he eased her away from him to give her a gentle smile. “I don’t think they’d let two Canadian spies near him otherwise.” She made a sound that was more a sob than the laugh she had intended. “I’m so sorry they got here before we did, Mariah.” She nodded. “They‘re in custody now. As for John, he’ll heal, though he’ll be a miserable bastard for you to deal with while he does.”

Ellie and her father soon came back down. She felt much calmer than she had. Her father carried a small suitcase, so General Patterson helped her stand. Ellie hugged her, said something about praying for John. Mariah hugged her back, whispered, “Thank you.”

She never remembered the drive to the airport, nor did she really remember boarding her father’s plane. She slept through the flight, woke briefly when they reached the east coast and refueled before slipping into sleep again. She was groggy and a little nauseous when they put down in Germany where a car from the base met them. Paul Patterson took charge at that point, and when they reached the hospital, he escorted Mariah straight to John’s room.

Her hand shook as she reached for John’s. His face was a complete mess, and his left leg and arm were encased in casts. Several fingers on his left hand were splinted. His chest was bruised above the bandages binding him, and she wanted to cry all over again. Paul told her to sit. She looked up at him as he sat a chair next to John’s bed. She dropped into it and clung to John’s right hand.

When she was alone with him, she whispered his name, smoothed her free hand over the one of his she held, and willed him to wake.

She lost track of how long she sat beside him, lost track of how many times the nurse came in to check on him, lost track of how many times the doctor suggested she leave him with them. Mariah knew he had always been there for her when she woke in the hospital, so she was determined to be there when he did. The nurse in charge finally marched in and told her in no uncertain terms she would have to leave, but Mariah looked at the woman and quietly but firmly said, “I will not leave until he tells me to.”

MPs came to escort her away. She looked at them, dared them to make her leave, but before they could do so, General Patterson called them off.

When she could stay awake no longer, she put her head down on his bed, closed her eyes, and slept.

 

\-------X--------

 

When he woke, Casey ran the mental checklist. Couldn’t move his left arm or leg, his broken fingers seemed to be splinted, and his chest was bound. He no longer hurt, at least, but that probably had more to do with the painkillers and sedatives they had given him when he was liberated from the room where Cowboy had kept him and the additional ones he’d been given at the hospital. He’d asked if they got Cowboy or Hamid. He took pleasure in seeing Hamid’s body on their way out, but there was no sign of Cowboy.

Casey couldn’t say he was sorry the muscle was dead. He was just sorry he wasn't the one who got him that way.

He started to move his right hand, but something had it pinned. He pried open the eye not swollen shut. He smiled faintly when he saw Riah’s hand in his. She had her head on the side of his mattress, and she was dead to the world.

At least she wasn’t really dead, and for the first time since he’d come to, strapped to a chair inside that room, he relaxed a little. Patterson and V. H. had promised to bring her to him, and they had obviously delivered. He considered waking her, but he felt tiredness wash over him, so he just gave a slight squeeze of her fingers and went back to sleep.

 

It was evening when he woke again. This time, she wasn’t holding his hand, and Casey felt a tightness in his chest. Uncomfortable from lying for several hours in the same position, he moved what he could. He pried his good eye open when she leaned over him, whispered his name. “Riah,” he mumbled, hated that he didn’t sound any stronger than he did, but then she leaned in and kissed him. He kissed back as much as he could, but there a stab of pain when he moved to do so. She began to cry, then choked out, “My turn.” She pressed another soft kiss on his mouth. “It’s my turn.”

It took him a moment to process that through the fog of the drugs, and then he gave her a faint smile, glad she was there, more glad when she kissed him again. When he let her end the kiss, she laughed softly, one filled with obvious relief. “John,” she breathed, “don’t you _ever_ scare me like that again!”

“I think we’re even,” he rumbled. Later, when he felt better, he’d tell her how much the idea that someone might take her, kill her while he was on the other side of the world had scared the hell out of him.

“Not nearly,” she assured him. “John, they told me you were dead.”

_Dead? Who in hell told her that?_ He’d made the medic let him call Paul Patterson when he’d been unable to get Walker, and he’d been relieved V. H. was with Ellerby when he called her. Beckman had called to check on him while he was in transit. Not one of them would have told her he’d been killed. “Not quite,” he told her in what sounded, even to him, as little more than a rumbling mumble, but then he slipped back into the comfortable dark.

 

The next time he fought his way back to consciousness, he was relieved to see she was really there, though for a moment he worried she might be a hallucination. The reminder of what she had believed in Ottawa didn’t exactly reassure him, though he better understood what she had thought and felt. The drugs had given him some odd dreams, and he had been afraid she was one of them. He asked her quietly, “I didn’t imagine you, did I?”

She smiled. “No.” She laid a soft hand on his less damaged cheek. Casey was relieved to feel the coolness of her fingers and palm—both of which felt surprisingly good against his skin. “I’m here.”

He nodded and slipped away again.

 

Casey started staying awake for longer stretches each time he woke. She was there every time, which reassured him. He was pretty sure there were guards on the door, but as long as they had been carefully chosen, she was safe if she was with him. He talked to her, though he couldn’t always remember about what.

The one time he woke up and she wasn’t there, he was about to press the call button and demand to know what had happened to her when General Beckman stepped into his line of sight. For the next hour and a half, he told her what had happened in Gaza, what happened when he was taken, and when he finished, she gave him her Queen Victoria look. “I think, perhaps, we should consider not only Miss Adderly’s safety but the risk she brings to Mr. Bartowski if she remains in Los Angeles.”

He heaved a sigh. They had had this conversation several times, and Casey was getting damned tired of it. By now, the General should have realized that having Riah with him was non-negotiable. “She stays, but ISI needs to find the asshole behind this.”

Beckman’s jaw flexed; then she told him tightly, “Agreed, but I think we might have to join the search.”

Casey wasn’t flattered that her edict had anything to do with the damage done to him. He knew it had more to do with the potential threat to Chuck Bartowski and the actual Intersect. “Tell Walker to keep a closer eye on Bartowski,” he said, “and get someone more competent than Kavanaugh in there with her.”

One of Beckman’s brows shot up. “Perhaps, Casey, you could remind me when I resigned and you assumed my command?”

He blamed the drugs for the amused snort that escaped him. The General was prickly at the best of times, but it wasn’t the first time he’d told her what should be done—it was just one of those occasions when she chose to object to his presumption.

“Bartowski must be protected, and Mariah’s presence has proven to be an effective diversion from his true function.” Casey was about to object when she added, “The problem before us is how to protect the both of them.”

“For the most part, Riah can take care of herself,” he said, though if pressed he’d have to concede that she hadn’t always managed it.

“Has she resigned from ISI yet?”

Casey shrugged and almost immediately regretted it. The last round of painkillers was beginning to wear off.

“I suppose we could look the other way for a while if she doesn’t,” Beckman told him. Casey chose to read that as an order. “She can stay in place with the Intersect until such time as she does resign. The agreement merely stated she must do so before the wedding.”

It wasn’t difficult to hear the _but_ in there. Casey waited.

“She’s only to deal with Bartowski, Major,” the General told him. “As long as she’s part of this, the same protections we would provide to you and to Agent Walker will be extended to her, but I would appreciate it if we could minimize the distractions she has created.”

Biting back that Riah hadn’t deliberately caused the distractions Beckman referenced wasn’t easy, but he did since she had just, essentially, given him what he wanted.

“Now,” she said briskly without the stern tone, “when do the two of you plan to get married?”

He steeled himself. “The Fourth.”

Beckman frowned. “Given your condition, Major, less than a month seems unreasonable.”

“Of July,” he corrected.

Like every other woman they had told, she looked incredulous. “You can’t be serious!”

Wearily, he ran through their reasons yet again. When she asked, he told her they would marry in Los Angeles, but the rest of the details hadn’t been nailed down yet. They discussed his leave options for a honeymoon, and Casey agreed to her terms. A week was long enough, he supposed, and it wasn’t like they would be allowed to leave their—his—assignment long if Bartowski was still alive and still the Intersect.

“She shouldn’t have to quit,” he added. It was still a sore point for him.

Beckman crossed her arms. “If it weren’t for her father’s and the Canadian government’s objections, we’d hire her. You and she work well together, and sometimes there are benefits in our line of work to spouses as partners.” Beckman dropped her arms. “We’ll see in five years, Casey.”

A lot could happen in five years, he knew. Because he was normally a worst-case-scenario planner, he didn’t like any of those possibilities.

Yet another doctor and nurse entered, so Beckman told him to get well and took her leave.

He thought he heard Riah in the hallway, but when he turned to see, he saw General Beckman steer her away from his door as Paul Patterson entered. He presumed General Patterson had kept Riah away while his boss debriefed him, and he was glad she hadn’t been left alone and vulnerable. He wondered, though, what his boss might be about to tell his fiancée. As a result, he was not the most cooperative patient.

When he was told they would transfer him home in two days, Casey was only slightly mollified. They gave him more painkillers before they left.

Paul Patterson, he noticed, made himself comfortable. “You could at least have had the decency to remain unconscious a while longer.”

“Why’s that?” Casey asked.

“I might just convince your pretty little girl to run away with me if you gave me a little more time,” Paul told him. If Casey hadn’t caught the amused gleam and heard the teasing note in the man’s voice, he might have lost his calm.

“Did you take a good look at her left hand?”

“When you finally got your head out of your ass and got to the point,” Paul told him with a broad grin, “you certainly went all out. Bet you even went on your knees.”

Casey had seen his face in a mirror, so he doubted the heat washing up under his skin was discernible from the bruises that marred him.

Paul snorted. Skepticism, Casey thought. “From your expression, you obviously did.”

His eyes heavy, Casey nodded. “She’s never running away with you.”

This time the snort was obviously laughter. “You’ve well and truly hooked her,” Paul agreed, “though I can’t imagine why any woman would choose surly and anally retentive over charming.”

“Who says you’re charming?” Casey retorted, though he knew the other man obviously was when it came to the opposite sex. He ignored the surly and anally retentive charges.

“More women than you might think,” Paul asserted with a broad grin. “Your pretty little girl, though, seems to see right through it. Maybe that’s why she picked you.”

Casey frowned, wondered what that meant. He didn’t have to wonder long.

“Your little Mariah prefers blunt honesty, much like you, to so much bullshit.”

She did, Casey thought, and he smiled as he started to drift. He didn’t go to sleep, but he did close his eyes, listened for her return. It took Paul’s soft, “Your pretty little girl is back,” for him to open his eyes again and realize he hadn’t heard her enter his room.

There was a smile on Riah’s face when he rolled his head toward her. She leaned down and kissed him, which was the reason his whispered, “You nearly took my head off the one time I called you baby, but you let him call you that?” wasn’t cranky.

She grinned. “He’s far more charming than you are.”

That made Paul Patterson laugh, but Casey scowled and bit out, “I can be charming.”

She took his hand. “You charmed me into marrying you.”

Casey had a feeling she was simply telling him what she thought he wanted to hear. He’d never been accused of being charming, after all.

“And while you’re stuck in bed, out of action, I’ll see if I can change her mind about that,” the General promised.

“He won’t,” Riah said softly and gently squeezed his hand when Casey let out a sleepy growl. “You, John. Only you."

When General Patterson finally left, Casey tugged her hand. Riah simply cocked her head, so he pulled again. When she realized what he wanted, she shook her head. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” he assured her. Frankly, Casey didn’t care if she did. He wanted her beside him. He figured he had enough painkillers in him to minimize any hurt having her in the bed with him might create.

It took several more moment to convince her. Finally, though, Riah sat gingerly on the side of his bed then lay on her side next to him. She leaned her cheek against the ball of his bare shoulder. Casey felt himself relax. He’d missed her, and while he wasn’t up to more than this, he felt better knowing she was there, really there.

“General Beckman said they’ll send you back to the States soon,” she told him.

His fingers threaded through hers. “You’re coming with me.” He had insisted on that when the doctor told him he’d be discharged. Beckman had reluctantly agreed. It was going to be tricky getting Riah on a military transport, especially when family members weren’t usually allowed on this kind of flight. He’d be with other soldiers on their way home.

She rubbed her cheek against his skin, turned and kissed his shoulder. Casey wondered when he’d feel up to having her kiss more than his mouth or his shoulder.

“They sent someone to tell me you were dead.”

Her quiet statement made him stiffen. He chased that thought, considered, and concluded he’d been right about Cowboy’s motives. They had wanted her alone and vulnerable. If she’d checked, Beckman would have told her he’d disappeared. Riah would have believed what whoever had been sent told her, and she might have trusted them.

“Ellie was there when they came,” she continued, told him they had worn Marine uniforms and that one had masqueraded as a chaplain. It was bad enough they had approached her with the right kind of subterfuge, he fumed, but they had impersonated officers as well, and that was a crime he had never been able to tolerate. Then, he wondered if they hadn’t actually been what they presented themselves as and if the military had become infested with Fulcrum as well. “It nearly killed me, John,” she added quietly. “I’ve never been so happy to see my dad and Paul as I was when they came to tell me it was a lie.”

He questioned her, made her tell him again about the chaplain and lieutenant colonel. Casey would have been furious if it hadn’t been for the drugs lending him borrowed calm. He couldn’t place the men she described, though, but he hoped Beckman had or would ask her to see if she could identify them. He lifted her hand, kissed it.

“It pissed me off,” she confessed as she moved a little closer to him and tilted her face to his, “especially since I explicitly told you not to get killed before you left.”

“Didn’t get killed,” he said sleepily, appreciated that she made the joke even though he wanted her to take all threats seriously. Cowboy, whoever he really was, had managed to get away, and that meant there was a still a very serious threat that needed to be dealt with. It irritated Casey that it would have to wait until he was better.

Riah smiled against his skin. “Good thing, too,” she told him.

He was about to go to sleep again, but no matter how hard he fought it, he knew he wasn’t going to win. “Don’t go anywhere,” he mumbled.

Her “I won’t” was the last thing he heard before he succumbed.

 

The sound of some nurse demanding to know what Riah thought she was doing yanked Casey awake. Nurse Ratched’s voice could peel paint. Casey hurt again, but that wasn’t why he snarled, “Shut the hell up and go away,” at the woman.

He added a glare when it looked like she wasn’t going to do as he told her. She finally huffed, snapped that she’d fetch the doctor, who would deal with them, and turned on her heel with the precision of an about-face on the parade ground. Her shoes slapped the polished floor angrily as she stalked away.

Casey slowly raised the hand he still held and kissed Riah’s fingers. “How much longer before I get to leave?” he asked wearily.

To his satisfaction, she shifted on the mattress beside him and slowly lifted to kiss him, really kiss him, he noted. The pissy nurse, of course, chose the moment Riah’s mouth connected with Casey’s to return, doctor in tow. The doctor cut off the nurse’s order for Riah to get off Casey’s bed by saying, “Obviously someone is feeling better.”

Stowing his usual irritation at cheerful doctor-chat, Casey focused on Riah as, red-faced, she slipped off the bed and moved out of their way. Casey would have preferred that she stay where she was while the other two left, but he supposed he’d have to submit if he wanted out of there—and he definitely wanted out of there.

They didn’t make her leave the room, he noticed. She stayed, took the seat General Patterson had occupied earlier, and watched as the doctor examined Casey. When the man finished, he said, “Well, Major Casey, I think it’s a good thing you’re getting well enough for me to kick you out in another day. Lieutenant Wilcox here may stroke out otherwise. Your fiancée, she tells me, is belligerent, recalcitrant, rude, and uncooperative.” The doctor’s lips twitched as Casey’s scowl deepened, though he was amused by what the man said. Riah must have given the lieutenant hell, and he intended to ask how when she was back where she had been before they were rudely interrupted. “Funny, but that’s how I’ve generally heard you described,” the doctor continued, looking over the tops of his glasses at Casey. “You’re obviously both well-suited.”

Before either Casey or Riah could take offense, the doctor moved on to Casey’s condition. Six broken ribs, one of which had punctured a lung, the broken arm and fingers, the broken leg, and the bruises and lacerations were enumerated. Casey waited for the man to finish the inventory of which he was already well aware, including the blood loss and concussion.

The doctor went on to say that Casey wasn’t as badly damaged as they had initially thought, but he still needed to take the time to heal properly. Then the doctor sent Casey’s blood pressure shooting up: “I’ve taken a good look at you, Major, and while you’re in excellent condition for a man your age who does what you do, you’re not a kid anymore, so you may find you don’t bounce back quite as fast this time.”

It was all Casey could do not to demand a weapon so he could shoot the prick. He’d show him bounce back. The bastard was probably a good ten years younger than Casey, and if the doctor had sustained the damage Casey had, he felt certain the other man would take a hell of a lot longer than he would to heal. He was unquestionably in better shape than the other man was, so Casey wondered what made him think he could tell him he was old and out of shape. The doctor looked over his shoulder at Riah, which was all that stopped Casey from telling him so.

“I’ve been told you’ll accompany him home?” the other man asked. Riah nodded. “I’ll have a list of instructions drawn up for you.” She nodded once more.

When they were gone, Casey had several choice words about the moron. He only stopped when he noticed Riah was biting her lip and trying hard not to laugh. He cut the rant short when he realized he had taken offense over something that was likely true whether he wanted to admit it or not. He sighed, beckoned to her with his good hand, and coaxed her to return to where she had been before they were interrupted.

“I’ll give you my house keys,” he told her. “Stay there until they let me out of the other hospital.”

“I thought I’d find a hotel closer to where you’ll be,” she told him.

He shook his head. She’d be safe at his Maryland house. He’d call in a few favors, make sure someone kept an eye on her and the house until he could do it himself. “They shouldn’t keep me more than a day,” he told her. “There’s no sense spending the money when you don’t need to.”

Riah leaned her head against his shoulder. “I’d rather be with you.” He could probably arrange that, he realized. He’d talk to Beckman.

 

In the end, he went home on a more private flight arranged by Beckman rather than the military transport. Casey, though, had the first taste of what convalescence would be like when he realized crutches or a cane were not going to be manageable when his broken arm was on the same side as his broken leg. At least they had put a walking cast on him, and he’d been right about them keeping him only one night.

He had to check back a couple of days later, so he and Riah stayed at his house until the doctors released him. He and Riah argued over whether to spend his leave in Laurel or return to Los Angeles. Since he wasn’t due back on the job immediately, Riah tried to convince him to stay in Maryland. He wanted to return to Los Angeles, and the glare Riah finally locked on him told him she knew damned well that if they returned to L.A., he’d be back on the job long before he was supposed to be.

They spent the first week of his leave in Laurel. He suspected Riah only agreed to return to L.A. after that week because he was making her crazy.

Casey had never dealt with boredom well. He admitted it. And he was bored. One of the few things he could think of that would hold his attention was a little beyond him in his condition and he was dead certain Riah wouldn’t cooperate out of fear she’d break him. At least in L.A., he could monitor the asset from a chair, the couch, or bed.

Riah finally agreed to the trip—after she threatened to suffocate him in his sleep.

Admittedly, he had driven her to it.

It started with his realization that he needed any two of his limbs to do anything he wanted to do. He couldn’t run with a broken leg. He couldn’t lift weights with a broken arm. He couldn’t go up and down stairs without help—doctor’s orders, Riah reminded him when he’d tried. He could shoot with one hand, but he couldn’t clean the weapons one-handed (though he had nearly called V. H. to ask the other man how he managed with only one operational hand).

It ended with his refusal to do his physical therapy.

Riah had a tongue on her nearly as vicious as her mother’s, he soon realized, and his temper ratcheted up proportionally. It wasn’t until he told her not to tell him what to do that she had set her jaw, narrowed her eyes at him, and reminded Casey, “Why not? You think you can tell me.”

“Since when do you take orders?” he’d snapped right back at her.

Her brows shot up. “Since when do you get to issue them?”

“Forgotten already who’s in charge?” Casey asked in a low, menacing tone.

If he’d thought she’d buckle then, he was wrong. He also discovered Riah had a menacing tone of her own. “Think a diamond and platinum shackle equals servitude, Major?”

That hit its mark, and her underlying implication of what that ring meant ignited white-hot anger. “Want your freedom?”

The second that escaped his gritted teeth, he regretted it, but he wasn’t about to take it back. She opened her mouth then shut it again; Casey hoped she wasn’t just looking for a nastier way to say yes.

“Want yours?” she finally ground out.

“Depends,” he ground right back.

She waited, her face tight with anger. He mentally stepped back a second, had nearly regrouped when Riah stepped closer, met his eyes. and said, “Keep this up, and you’ll get it—whether you want it or not.” Her eyes narrowed as she told him, “Think carefully, John, because I’ve had about enough of this. You hurt—been there. You don’t want to take the drugs—fine. But if you don’t quit ordering me around like I’m a fucking lance corporal whose punishment duty is to be at your beck and call, I will take my pillow and suffocate you in your goddamn sleep!”

From the look of her, she meant it. Casey wisely shut up, and he was on his best behavior for the rest of the day and evening.

 

They flew back to California, but Riah’s default was still pissed off. Their détente over his bossing her around had been short-lived. For the most part, she did what he needed without complaint, and Casey hated to admit that it was only when he got unreasonable that she got mad. The problem was, he was used to giving orders and mostly used to having them obeyed. She expected him to ask.

Bartowski met them at the airport with Riah’s car. Casey wondered how in hell he was supposed to ride in that, though he acknowledged the larger SUV that had taken them to the airport hadn’t been much better. Riah had tersely ordered Chuck to put their bags in the back while she opened both passenger doors on her Subaru, removed the headrest on the front seat she pulled all the way forward and then lowered the back so that it lay flat with the backseat. She gave Casey a grumpy look before she told him, “Get in, shut up, and let’s go home.”

He did as he was told, and he had to admit being able to stretch his leg out was considerably more comfortable than riding in the Vic or riding in the SUV would have been. He would rather, though, that she was in the backseat with him instead of Bartowski.

Then, he entered another level of hell.

Well, he’d already been there, but somehow, this was worse.

It began with having Ellie Bartowski fuss over him. That was when he realized Riah hadn’t fussed. Not once. Casey didn’t mind that she didn’t fuss since he hated having a woman—or anyone else, for that matter—flutter around him. If he hadn’t already known that about himself, having Ellie fret and worry over him, plump cushions and fluff pillows, would have convinced him. Even when he was younger, Casey had preferred to be left alone when he was sick to having someone constantly ask if he needed anything, constantly ask how he was, constantly hover over him as though he’d die any minute if he was given a moment’s peace.

Now he tried to decide if it was just that Riah understood or if she was getting revenge for that week in Maryland where he had been the world’s worst patient.

The worst level of hell, though, came at night when Riah came to bed. She dressed for sleep, though it wasn’t in any of the silky nightgowns in her drawer or even in those soft camisoles and boxer shorts. She came to bed in long cotton pants and loose t-shirts. She kissed him, they talked softly, and then she rolled over and went to sleep.

After a couple of weeks of this, Casey was frustrated as hell. He had snapped a time or two that he wasn’t an invalid. Riah had given him a puzzled look each time. Casey couldn’t believe she was that dense. Trying to sleep next to her without her touching him was driving him insane, but no matter how hard he tried to get her to understand what he wanted, he got that blank look. It was making him stark, staring mad. He snapped at Walker when she came to see him, he was downright cruel to Bartowski when Ellie made him come over and keep an eye on him when her shift changed to nights, and he’d even called Ellie an unfeeling bitch when she told him he needed to do his physical therapy.

He sent her two dozen yellow roses and a bottle of her favorite wine to apologize.

Then, he realized he should apologize to Riah as well.

She’d been juggling him, the Buy More, and Bartowski a couple of times while she tried to reign in wedding plans that kept spiraling out of control every time she talked to her mother.

Casey spent several hours listening to her breathe in her sleep and thinking about why Riah hadn’t done much more than kiss him since he was released from the hospital. He lay awake beside her and wondered how he could convince her he wasn’t too fragile to fuck. Somewhere around three a.m., he finally figured it out: He’d never come right out and asked her to take him for a ride.

He’d change that.

First thing after Riah left for the Buy More, Casey called Bartowski. He told the kid he needed his help, told Bartowski to tell Milbarge he had an onsite install. When the kid got there, Casey handed him a list. After reading it, Bartowski gave him a look of complete disbelief, one tinged with a hint of horror. “You’re kidding, right?” he demanded.

Casey fired up the death glare.

“I’m supposed to be at work!” was Chuck’s next defense.

He didn’t bother dignifying that with an answer. Bartowski missed so much work for Intersect jobs it was a miracle he was still employed by Buy More. Actually, it wasn’t. Bartowski’s job was carefully protected by the U.S. government.

“Agent Provocateur?” Bartowski squeaked. “I am so not doing that one. Ask Sarah.”

Casey had decided Riah should expand her lingerie horizons. He’d noted exactly what he wanted for her from their website as well as her size on the list. Bartowski was a deep, dark red at the thought. It would do the kid good, he decided, expand the kid’s horizons, too. Mainly because Casey felt mean, despite knowing Bartowski and Walker were in one of their periodic off-again stages, he added, “I’ll spring for you to get something for Walker—assuming you know her size and can get her to wear it for you.”

“Okay, Casey,” the kid said between clenched teeth. “I’ll do this—not the lingerie, but the rest—because apparently one of those broken fingers _is your dialing finger._ ”

It was time to stop being a prick, Casey decided. He’d consider it practice for when night came and he had to persuade Riah he wouldn’t break anything else if she bounced on him. He sighed. “I’ll make some calls, Bartowski, but I’m sticking you with the restaurant order and getting the champagne.”

“No,” Bartowski said, “I’ll do this.”

“Even the underwear?” Casey’s brows shot up.

“Even that,” the kid said through gritted teeth.

Casey entertained himself thinking of the spectacle Bartowski would inevitably make of himself buying Riah’s lingerie. For a moment, he longed for a camera on Bartowski. He considered hacking the store’s surveillance system, though there was an outside chance the cameras were wired to a network through which he would be unable to access them.

He forgot about that, though, when he opened his mail after the kid was gone.

Riah was not going to need to worry about Fulcrum or anyone else who might be after her because Casey was going to murder her.


	19. Chapter 19

Furious, Casey stared at them, one by one, dropped them on the growing pile in his lap. Just to be sure, he checked his bank balances, and then he went through the statements again. Each one had a zero balance, but neither his checking nor his savings accounts had budged.

She’d even paid off the goddamn ring.

Most people would be surprised to realize Casey wasn’t quite the Neanderthal he was generally believed to be when it came to women. Admittedly, he occasionally fostered that image. Making women believe it tended to mean he was largely left alone by all but the truly persistent. He had no problem with the idea that his wife might work or even with the notion that she was a hell of a lot better off financially than he. It did, though, irritate the hell out of him that she thought she had to pay his debts.

He supposed he ought to be glad the payment on the Vic hadn’t been due.

Heaving an angry sigh that was more of a grunt, he flung the pile of zero-balance statements on the coffee table— _that she had paid for_. Remembering that little fact had him giving it a hard enough stare it should have spontaneously combusted. Casey considered for a moment the satisfaction he would get if it did exactly that.

If he had any sense, he would recall Bartowski from his mission, tell him to take back what he could and cancel the rest.

Then he considered all the possibilities for revenge in what he had set in motion.

By the time Bartowski returned, Casey had achieved an outer calm. He thanked the kid before he sent him on his way. Then, he started setting the stage to teach Riah a lesson.

 

It took most of the day to slowly set the scene, mainly because the casts got in the way and made moving around both difficult and tiring. By the time Riah’s shift was over, Casey had the table set, the champagne in the ice bucket, and the dinner the restaurant delivered warming.

For a moment, he reconsidered. For a moment, he thought about Riah’s probable reactions. Then, he weighed his options to achieve his aim, decided the probable outcomes involved acceptable risks, and chose to proceed.

When she arrived home, he was where he was most evenings—in his chair with his leg elevated. Casey looked up from the data files he carefully read through. Beckman had him doing analysis on military targets while he was sidelined, a task Casey didn’t mind and suspected Riah had arranged to keep him occupied.

Riah looked at the table, then at him.

“Change, and come back down,” he said when she walked to him and kissed him. “Dinner should be ready by then.”

Eyes narrowed, he thoughtfully watched her climb the stairs. He knew what she’d see when she reached their room. He wondered what her reaction would be and whether she’d take the hint or if she’d decide to ignore what lay across their bed.

The online catalog called it a playsuit. It had two triangles of fabric that would cover her breasts, another set that would cover the other parts of her that he wasn’t certain actually needed covering and tie at her hips. The two pieces were joined by strips of fabric into a kind of one-piece bikini.

He would have enjoyed taking it off Riah. Might still, he decided, and then he realized what he intended would likely be more painful for him than for her. The garment would live up to its name, if Casey had his way, but it wasn’t going to be very satisfactory for either of them.

If she was wearing it when she came back downstairs, he couldn’t tell. She’d dressed casually, apparently taking her cue from him. Riah waved him at the table when he got up to get dinner, did it herself. Casey opened the champagne one-handed and wondered if he could hold his temper long enough to eat.

Once he held her chair then hobbled over and took his own, Riah studied him. “What’s the occasion?”

He could hear suspicion in her voice. Casey shrugged. “I realized I was being an ass,” he paused a moment, remembered what she’d said Christmas when he offered that up by way of explanation, “—and I thought I’d do something nice for you.”

That didn’t disarm her distrust, he noticed. Casey wondered if Riah would let it go for the sake of harmony. It occurred to him then that he was, apparently, trying to lull her into a false sense of security before he fired the first shot. Once more he considered whether or not to simply bring it up, get the inevitable argument over with, and move on to more pleasurable pursuits.

It wasn’t until that moment when he finally figured out that this could go wrong in more spectacular ways than any other argument he’d ever had with a woman. In the past, the stakes had rarely been high, since Casey hadn’t been very invested in the relationship—with one exception. This time, though, they were very high, and letting Riah walk away wasn’t an acceptable option for him. In addition, she rarely intimidated, so it was quite likely, given he’d driven her to frustrated anger more than once since he’d come home, that she might just decide to cut her losses.

The anger welled once more. Casey thought snidely that at least he wasn’t out the thirty grand on her finger.

That had been the wrong thing to remember, he realized, because Riah’s eyes narrowed. He wondered what he’d done to give his game away.

“Alright, John,” Riah said as she sat down her fork. “Let’s hear it.”

“Hear what?” he growled.

“Whatever I’ve done to piss you off."

_Why not?_ Nothing had ever gone as he intended with this woman, so why should any petty revenge—because Casey now saw that’s exactly what he’d intended.

“You paid my bills.”

Casey watched in disbelief as she frowned, and then he realized she had no idea why that could possibly be wrong.

“You told me to,” she said in a flat, puzzled voice. “Well, you sent me a letter that told me to,” she amended.

“Out of my accounts, Riah, not yours,” he bit out.

To his amazement, she seemed confused by that. He was stunned when she finally asked, “Why does that matter?”

How could she not know? How on earth could she possibly believe she could pay his debts and it wouldn’t piss him off?

Before he could say a word, she frowned. “I always pay my credit cards off each month. Don’t you?”

Under normal circumstances, he generally did, but that one bill would have been paid out over months. That was when Casey realized that for him this was about the ring more than anything else. It didn’t stop him from doggedly sticking to his point: “It doesn’t matter what I normally do, Riah. They’re _my_ bills, and _I_ pay them. You are _not_ going to settle my debts for me.”

She sat back while Casey watched her brows slowly ride up. “We’re getting married.”

If she thought that excused it, she was wrong, he thought as his temper went from simmer to boil. “Maybe not,” he bit out, at that moment not at all sure he didn’t want to stay single if Riah couldn’t get the fundamental fact that he paid his own way. “I will not be bought by you.”

Her arms crossed over her chest, and a dark flush ran up her cheeks. Riah’s eyes arced hot blue. “I didn’t buy you, John,” she said with a clipped precision that made the fine hairs on his body stand up. “I paid a set of bills _you_ added my name to.” She shrugged stiffly. “So I did it out of my funds. I hadn’t signed the paperwork at your bank when they came due. It never once dawned on me that you would have a problem with that.” Her eyes slitted. “You should have been more explicit in your instructions, John. I didn’t hear—or read—an order about which account I was supposed to use, and believe me, John, I remember precisely your _exact_ instructions regarding direct orders.”

Oh, he remembered that conversation over the furniture and following orders, and Casey remembered why he had avoided entanglements with women. Every misstep meant all his sins were enumerated. Two could play that game. “Stupidity doesn’t suit you,” he echoed tightly, “and any imbecile would have known I meant you were to pay those bills from my account.”

Her chin shot up while her eyes went dark. “You know, John, marriages are partnerships. I don’t do yours, mine and ours.”

“We’re not married,” he shot back without thinking.

She stood slowly, set her napkin on the table, and looked at him. “And we’re not going to be.” She pulled the ring off her finger, walked around the table to him. “I don’t tolerate unreconstructed, sexist assholes.” She smacked the ring down next to his plate. Riah sailed out the door before Casey could even react.

 

For the first two hours, he was furious. Then, he worried. He cleaned up the uneaten meal, and wondered how to find her. She, like Bartowski, was a walking target, and she didn’t need to wander around alone and unarmed. She’d gone out that door with nothing—not even her keys. Her phone was probably upstairs, so using it to find her would do no good.

Casey checked the Bartowski feeds, but Riah wasn’t there. He rolled back the surveillance on the courtyard and watched her leave. Wherever she had gone, she had gone on foot. He doubted she had had any money on her, so she couldn’t have hired a cab. He had decided he should go look for her when there was a knock on the door.

It was just Bartowski.

He gave a frustrated growl and hobbled away from his open door. The kid took that as an invitation to come inside, but Casey had no interest in doing the lady feeling thing.

“So why does Mariah want to shoot you?” Bartowski asked without preamble and just a hint too much cheerfulness for Casey’s tastes. “You had a romantic night planned, but she came out of here mad and offering up some pretty creative ways to kill you and dispose of the body.”

That stalled Casey’s fury a moment. He hadn’t seen her speak to Chuck on her way out—and a tiny part of him was curious what methods she suggested to the kid.

“I ran into her on the street,” Bartowski explained.

“Where’d she go?” Casey asked.

The kid shrugged. “I loaned her the Herder.”

So she could be anywhere, though he’d bet she ran to Ellerby. He had the number to the consulate, but this late, he doubted the two women were still there. He could, though, trace the Herder.

“So what happened?” Bartowski asked.

Casey wasn’t answering that. He made his way to the desk and the computer there to see if she was safe and where.

He had a lock on the tracking system when he heard the kid say, “Oh.”

Looking around, he saw Riah’s ring held between Bartowski’s thumb and forefinger.

“Put it down before I break something,” Casey growled.

The Herder was parked in the garage of the Canadian consulate’s building. Ellerby would take care of Riah and, with any luck, talk some sense into her.

“You know, Casey,” Bartowski began, but Casey didn’t want to hear it. The kid was a walking advice column, and Casey didn’t need anyone to tell him he’d been an idiot when he opened the door for Riah to do what she’d done. The important thing now was to get her to come back and shout it out with him.

As a result, he gave the kid a hard glare and ground out with extra menace, “We’re not talking about this, Bartowski.”

“Yes, we are,” the kid shot right back. “She loves you, you love her, and if there’s one thing I’ve managed to figure out about you, Casey, it’s that you don’t have the first idea what to do when a woman walks away from you.”

“And you do?” he sneered. “Near as I can tell, you can’t keep a fish hooked when it isn’t even wriggling.”

Bartowski didn’t quite react the way Casey expected. There was no outrage, no babble to correct him. He did open and then close his mouth like a landed fish, but he remained suspiciously silent. The kid must be coming down with something. As Casey watched, Bartowski made himself comfortable, put his feet on the goddamn coffee table. Casey bit back an order to put them on the floor. “This isn’t about me, Casey, and I do fine.”

Casey crossed his good arm over the one in the cast. That probably would have been more effective without the cast, but he couldn’t help that. He could still do the glare, and he watched Bartowski pale.

“Okay, I suck at relationships, too,” the kid said, “but Mariah loves you enough to generally overlook your constipated emotions. Not many women would, buddy.”

“I’m not your buddy,” Casey bit out, “and my emotions aren’t constipated or even your business. If you’re here to play Dear Abby, there’s the door.” He pointed with his chin.

Bartowski didn’t budge. “Nope. No Dear Abby, but let’s face it, Casey. You’re about the only person I know who can get a woman to walk out on you in two-point-five seconds by just being yourself, especially when you are apparently trying to be romantic.”

Perversely, Casey thought of another contender. “Barnes.”

“Jeff’s more like zero-point-one seconds,” Bartowski corrected. “Whatever you did, Casey, you need to find a way to undo it.” The kid sighed. “Don’t be like me.”

Casey dropped his good arm. “Like you?” It was genuine curiosity that drove the question, though it irritated Casey that he actually asked it. Women liked Bartowski. Hell, _men_ liked Bartowski. Just because Chuck and Walker couldn’t get their act together didn’t mean they wouldn’t figure it out at some point.

“Jill dumped me for Bryce.” Bartowski grimaced. “So did Sarah, for that matter.”

Casey grunted somewhat sympathetic agreement, hobbled to his chair and dropped into it. He would never figure out what Walker saw in that particular amoral moron. Bartowski was a far sounder bet and one who likely wouldn’t betray her if she’d simply learn to trust him.

“Lou dumped me,” Bartowski added morosely. Casey nodded, though the kid couldn’t really take a lot of the blame there. Being the Intersect would likely always play hell with the kid’s love life, especially since the government was going to take an extreme interest in any woman Bartowski chose. She’d be discouraged from dating Bartowski if not outright driven away. Even if she weren’t, even if she cleared the deep background checks, any woman interested in Bartowski would always be lied to, and sooner or later, she would realize it. The kid wasn’t good at dissembling, and he was downright lousy at lying, despite Casey and Walker’s attempts to teach him to do it better.

For a split second, Casey realized he had his own set of lies, things he should tell Riah before they married that could well change everything—and not in a good way.

Then again, Kathleen was unlikely to come back to haunt him, and Riah already knew about Ilsa. Those would be the two he figured would wound worst. The other lie, the one even Casey refused to acknowledge, well, it would take an unusual, catastrophic event for that to ever come to light. All things considered, it was probably best to let the dead remain so—events as well as people.

Bartowski’s, “So where is she?” brought him back from dark thoughts.

“Canadian consulate.”

The kid’s surprised expression cheered Casey. He knew Bartowski figured he had no idea where Riah had run to ground.

“So there was an ISI emergency?”

Casey noted Bartowski’s relieved expression. “No,” he said tersely. “It’s where she could find a sympathetic ear.” That relieved expression went baffled, so Casey explained the relationship between Riah and Mona Ellerby. Bartowski, predictably, flashed on Ellerby’s name.

“She’s friends with her dad’s mistress?” The note of panic amused Casey.

“V. H. and Ellerby are friends,” he corrected. “Despite rumors to the contrary, they’ve never been lovers.” Ellerby was far from Adderly’s type, and while the other man was fond of the woman, V. H. knew better than to ruin a good friendship. Adderly needed Mona Ellerby, and while she was undoubtedly in love with V. H., that particular affection was not returned in the way she might hope.

A frown creased Bartowski’s brow. “So the Intersect can be wrong?”

That stopped Casey a moment. He’d never really considered it before, tended to blindly trust that the intel coded in Bartowski’s head was right. If the intel was wrong, though, then obviously the Intersect was, too. Casey considered the ramifications of that, the impracticability of double checking it in the field, of double checking it even when they weren’t. Urgency often had to override caution on this detail.

Bartowski didn’t need an answer, though. The kid returned unerringly to Riah. “So why don’t you go get her?”

Casey didn’t dignify that with an answer. He wasn’t driving anywhere—though he considered for a moment that he might be able to since his right arm and leg were fine. “She’ll come back,” he said when Bartowski continued to give him that expectant look. He raised his brows at the kid’s skeptical expression. “Her stuff’s here.”

It took some doing to get rid of Bartowski. Casey was touched the kid worried about him, but that was far outweighed by his irritation over Chuck’s desire to provide advice for how to win Riah back. Casey was pretty sure he could do that on his own. He would simply have to get her to hear him out, and he’d have to tell her he was sorry when he really wasn’t.

The reality was, her shot about _yours, mine, and ours_ had been a direct hit. There were just some things about which Casey was unwilling to yield. Paying for Riah’s engagement ring was at the top of the list. Letting her pay debts he’d acquired before she agreed to marry him was another. He could support them, any children if they had them, but he didn’t expect her to support him.

He had no expectation that they would keep separate accounts or that they would split everything down the middle. No, the issue was deeper rooted than that, and while he felt instinctively it was his job to provide and to support, Riah had assets of her own that should, probably, mostly stay her own.

To his irritation, he was back to being on Ariel Taylor’s side. They were going to have to revisit the prenup issue.

Casey brooded over that. He was still doing so when Riah let herself into the apartment.

She didn’t look a bit less angry than she had when she stormed out earlier.

As a result, Casey paused, which gave her a chance to get upstairs before he could struggle to his feet to follow her.

Not that he needed to since she came right back down.

Riah strode directly to where he was still seated and dropped a thick pile of files in his lap. She sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of him. “Right. These are my financial records,” she bit out. She made an imperious gesture, so Casey opened the top file to see her most recent bank statement. Rich, apparently, didn’t quite cover it. The next neatly labeled file contained her American stock portfolio. The next three were investments in Canada and Great Britain. After that were copies of deeds to houses—she owned four: two in Canada, one in the American South, and one in Monaco. There were five apartments scattered across Canada and one in London where her mother kept a home. She also owned investment property: apartment buildings, commercial buildings, and, curiously, a factory.

He looked across at her. “If we get married, those are yours, too,” she bit out. “But let’s get one thing straight, John. I’m good at this. I was trained from a young age to understand money and how to make it. Most of that I’ve acquired on my own rather than through inheritance. I understood simple interest, nominal interest, cumulative interest and how interest is compounded before I was six. I understood the stock markets by eight, and I made my first investments without adult guidance at ten. The money was given to me: I’ve done the rest.”

His jaw ached from keeping it clenched. He let her finish.

After trying, apparently, to stare him down, she finally said, “If you can’t live with that, fine.”

That, though, made him respond, mainly because Casey definitely didn’t like the sound of that. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Riah eyed him, and then she took a checkbook and pen out of her pocket. “If you can’t accept that I have money, money that will continue to grow, then I’ll give it away. Who should I write the checks to?”

For a moment, Casey thought he hadn’t heard that correctly. She could not be serious about giving away the kind of wealth the files in his lap documented. “You’re kidding.”

Apparently, she wasn’t. “Wounded Warrior Project? Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America?” Riah shot a brow up. “Sorry, but I draw the line at the NRA.” Holding the pen over a blank check, she added, “You choose, John. I’ll liquidate the other assets, though I intend to keep the house in Newfoundland and my apartment in Ottawa. I’ll give the proceeds to those away, too.”

Casey stared, but it was obvious she was deadly serious. “It’s yours, Riah. Do what you want with it.”

“I told you, John,” she said in a lethally angry tone, “I don’t do yours, mine, and ours. If you’ve got a problem with the wealth I bring to this relationship, then let’s give it away.”

Temper drove him to ask, “Doesn’t that mean you do _ours_?”

“No, John,” she told him, this time in an uninflected voice. “It means I’m not going to be like my mother. You won’t have your accounts, I have mine, and then we have yet a third account to which we both contribute, adjusted for our varying incomes, in order to pay our living expenses. I’m an all or nothing kind of girl. It’s ours, yes, but not selectively ours.” She bit her lip, studied him. “My mother ruined more than one relationship trying to keep what was hers hers. It poisoned the well, John, led to resentment, and I won’t live like that. If what I have makes you this angry, this upset, then I’d far rather give it to good causes. What I won’t do is let it sit there and do no one any good.”

“I’m not a charity case, Riah,” he ground out, “and it was my responsibility to pay for your engagement ring.”

It wasn’t hard to see her confused surprise. Casey couldn’t understand why she simply couldn’t get that he needed to do that. “It’s a symbol of what I feel for you, of my intent. At one time, it was a symbol of ownership, Riah, but I never intended it that way,” he finally said. The last might edge on a lie, he realized, since he’d been more than willing to exploit that final meaning with Kavanaugh. “More importantly, it’s a gift—only you paid for it, so it isn’t even that.”

She had no answer for that.

He sighed. “Maybe your mother was right about the prenup,” he groused.

“She sure as hell wasn’t,” Riah ground out. “If money is going to be a problem for us, then holding separate accounts will only make things worse.” She stood, took back her files. “I’m sorry you’re angry I paid the bills, John. Feel free to pay me back if it bothers you that badly.”

He watched her go upstairs and fumed. After a few moments, he heard a door close, noted it wasn’t a slam, and then curiosity got the better of him. She hated enclosed spaces, rarely closed bedroom doors, and usually got antsy when he did. He pulled himself to his feet, scooped up her ring, and shut off lights and locked the door before heading up after her.

Riah had taken refuge in her old room, which sent his temper up again.

They had resolved nothing, and she’d apparently decided to shut him out rather than hear him out. He supposed she intended to do another of her silent routines, the ones where she went through the motions without speaking to him for several days until she finally got over it.

_Like hell._

He turned the knob and shoved the door open. She stood, bent over her bed as she turned the covers down. “You had your say, now it’s my turn,” he bit out as she straightened.

She wore one of those nightgowns, this one red and clinging, and for a brief moment, he wondered if she’d known he would follow her.

“I knew you were rich, Riah, but that wasn’t why I asked you to marry me. Frankly, I don’t give a shit what you do with your money, _except_ ,” he snapped to stop her response, “when you pay my debts.”

An angry growling noise came from her. Riah actually stamped a foot. It set parts of her jiggling in ways that caught Casey’s attention. He made himself focus on her words: “As far as I’m concerned, I paid _our_ debts.”

“Wrong!” he shot back. “They were from before I even asked you to marry me. You’re not responsible for those.”

She breathed in deeply, turned her eyes toward the ceiling and gave a hard sigh. “Is this going anywhere? Any new ground you’d like to cover? Would you like me to contact your credit card companies and retract the payments I made?”

The strap on her nightgown slipped, so Casey was distracted by the exposure of her upper breast. “Yes.”

“First thing in the morning,” she promised, “or should I do it now?”

He nearly asked her what, which was easier when he pulled his eyes off her chest. “If I insist on paying the cost of your ring back, what will you do with the money?”

She hiked the strap back up and then crossed her arms. A funny little smirk lifted Riah’s lips, which should have warned him. “Donations in your name to the National Organization for Women, Planned Parenthood, the Global Fund for Women, and, just for fun, the Canadian group, the National Action Committee on the Status of Women. The last lost their government funding and could use the cash.”

There was a moment of horror followed by the certainty that she was joking. Then, Casey finally saw the humor in this, though he was careful not to show it. If he’d thought he could win this one, he had been wrong. They could play petty games over money, or they could figure out what to do in a rational manner. Right now, he wasn’t rational, so he measured her temper. Riah still had that pissed off look, but he wasn’t certain whether she was still genuinely angry or not.

“Communist,” he deadpanned.

She snorted. “I’m Canadian, John, not Cuban.”

“Socialist, then.”

Riah laughed this time. “Damn straight.” She dropped her arms. “Are we done?”

Casey didn’t make the flippant answer he was tempted to make. Instead, he asked, “Define done.”

“Finished with an argument neither of us is going to win if we keep at it while ruining a relationship that has mostly worked.”

That seemed a fair summary. He nodded. “Done.”

Riah rounded the bed, stood in front of him. “If I asked for the ring back, would you give it to me?”

“Depends,” Casey told her. She cocked her head. “Do you want it back because you paid for it, or because you want what it means?”

“If we can scratch ownership from the list of meanings, then yes, that.”

He dug it out of his pocket, but then Casey realized he had a problem. “You’ll have to hold your hand out.” Riah smiled and did so. He slipped it on her finger with a little help. Then, he kissed her.

It wasn’t a satisfactory ending to the argument, but even though he was certain there would be a round two—maybe twelve rounds—based on her response to that kiss, he was willing to take an intermission.

“Can we move this to the bed I paid for?” he asked when her hands burrowed under his shirt.

“Don’t quite know when to leave well enough alone, do you, Major?” she asked. Thankfully, she began backing toward the door. Casey followed. Riah helped him undress, then she tilted her head. “I really don’t want to hurt you, John.”

“Trust me,” he told her fervently, “you won’t.”

She shimmied out of the red gown, and God bless her, she didn’t have any underwear on. For a moment, he wished she’d put on what he bought her when he realized it was nowhere in sight. He was about to ask, but she stopped him, a blush staining her cheeks. “I took it back off.” He gave her a little whine. “I could put it back on,” she offered.

Unwilling to wait, he told her, “Another time,” and pulled her closer with his good arm.

It took some maneuvering, and it took some coaxing on his part since she really was worried she’d hurt him. Casey have thought she would have realized he wasn’t as fragile as she thought by now, but once Riah was on top of him, once she began to move, he wondered if it might not kill him after all. It wasn’t painful, but he worried about disappointing her. Fortunately, she seemed aware enough to stop now and then and let him get himself back under control—either that or she was getting her revenge for the argument by stopping short of his completion. Either way, Casey was pretty happy with the end result, and when Riah leaned down and kissed him very thoroughly afterward, he suggested they go again later.

 

They did.

 

A week later, a thick envelope came addressed to him from a law firm in Chicago. Inside were a number of forms adding Casey’s name to Riah’s accounts and to the deeds on the properties she owned. He knew Ariel would go ballistic if she knew, so he hesitated to sign them. Riah, when she arrived home, told him that if he didn’t want to sign them, he didn’t have to. In that moment, he realized she really did trust him.

Then he worried whether she really should.


	20. Chapter 20

The week before Valentine’s Day, Casey’s casts were removed. He was glad to be able to return to his usual work, though less glad to return to the Buy More.  
Milbarge had looked him up and down, sniffed that Casey could have light duties until he was fully recovered. Casey wondered if he could “accidentally” knock a refrigerator over on the man.

Riah’s plans for Valentine’s Day were interrupted by a misadventure that involved Bartowski and Walker playing house in a Fulcrum cul de sac. Casey wound up with a broken thumb. Riah had given him a look that straddled concern and amusement before she asked if he intended to break many more parts before they got married. He proceeded to demonstrate that broken bones weren’t an impediment to anything she might need to worry about.

What she might need to worry about was that Beckman had begun sending him sensitive reports on Afghanistan. Casey knew what that meant. Operation Bartowski was about to end. He didn’t like the idea of being the one who put the bullet in the kid, but he supposed better him than someone who might hesitate, whose hand might not be steady, who might only hurt or maim Chuck rather than kill him outright.

Casey still thought the kid deserved better, deserved a chance to prove he was more than just a data-regurgitating cyborg (and if Bartowski ever found out he even knew that word, Casey wouldn’t hesitate to threaten a bullet).

No, Casey knew what the reports meant. Beckman was planning an endgame, and Bartowski’s attempts to find Orion were going to seal the kid’s fate. He knew Chuck thought no one knew what he was doing, and if Casey was aiding and abetting by refusing to disclose, well, as long as it didn’t affect Casey’s assignment, he could live with it. After all, Casey would get to go back to his unit when it was all over, which was fine with him—or it would have been under any other circumstances.

He weighed the wisdom of pissing off one woman in the form of his boss against pissing off four women planning a wedding—his.

Truthfully, he’d rather deal with an angry Beckman than face down Emma MacKenzie, Ariel Taylor, and his own mother. Riah would be upset, but she’d let him go unharmed. He couldn’t say the same for the other three.

Add in the fact that he was worried about Riah, and Casey began to realize why Beckman had wanted him to get some distance from her the year before.

There was something wrong with her, but he couldn’t quite figure out what. A few mornings earlier, she had come downstairs and almost immediately run right back up. When she came down again, she was pale, waxy. She looked ill. When he asked her what was wrong, she would only say she didn’t feel well. When she pulled the coffee pot from the maker’s burner, she shoved it back and ran for the downstairs bathroom. He could hear her retching over the morning news, but she refused to stay home when he suggested she do so. She looked sick most of the day, and she barely ate lunch, examined every bite as if it were a personal enemy before she put it in her mouth. He noticed she rushed for the bathroom a couple of times before their shifts were over, and he was pretty sure she’d thrown up each of those times.

Home again, while he watched her pull on pyjama bottoms and a tank, he offered, “I’ll fix dinner.”

She looked ill, paled again. “I don’t feel like eating. I think I’m coming down with something.”

Casey refrained from telling her she should have stayed home, then. He ate a solitary dinner while she went to bed early. When he joined her, she was asleep. Her body felt no warmer than normal, he noticed. As he turned the puzzle over and over, tried to fit the pieces together, he reached an uneasy conclusion.

He thought about what he’d told her the day after Christmas.

Faced with the actual possibility, Casey was a bit more ambivalent about the idea of being a father. What he did put her and any child they might have at risk. He fully understood that, but he wondered if his reassurances to Riah had been more about knowing she wanted to be a mother and less about what he wanted. He also knew being a parent would distract him from the job—both jobs. He’d miss them when he had to strap on the gear and go, and he’d worry about them.

For a moment, he thought about the fact that plural was no different than singular in this case. He’d miss Riah, had before, and he’d worry about her—with good reason, he knew, though that didn’t make it any easier, and that was without a baby in the mix.

It was supposed to work that way, he knew. He was supposed to miss her—them—but he worried that it would make him be far more cautious than he often needed to be to get the job done.

The truth was, he could rationalize all the reasons why they shouldn’t have children: Riah was still emotionally fragile, and a child might exacerbate that; his work might well take him away from her for long periods of time, leaving her to raise their child largely alone; he was firmly middle-aged; his job—both his jobs—had enough risk he could get killed or hurt badly enough she would have to raise a child entirely alone; there were real risks to her in carrying a child, risks he could do nothing about; their child or children could become pawns to be used against him or against Riah’s father or, for that matter, Riah herself; a child could expose him to others for what he was.

After all, kids couldn’t keep secrets for shit.

Then, he considered the ramifications of having to lie to a child about what he did, about what that might do to their relationship. He considered the cost of frequent absences, considered what would likely happen when his child realized he lied about the most fundamental thing—what Casey did and was. He’d loved his father, but he’d resented the hell out of him, too. He’d known what his old man was, though he’d never understood how James Casey could have left his family as he’d done, checked out of their lives despite remaining physically there. Casey was much more likely to be really gone, but he wasn’t sure that was any better, no matter how much he might try to do things differently than his own father had.

As he lay sleepless beside her, he calculated risks, and somewhere near dawn, he realized they didn’t matter. If Riah was pregnant, they were having a child. A smile tugged at his mouth, and he felt a foreign emotion spread through him. He had told Chuck when Ilsa turned up that he wasn’t father material, that it wasn’t a role he wanted. He was pretty sure the first part was true. After all, he hadn’t had the best role model when he was a child, for the most part, but the last had been a lie.

They would deal with it, one way or another, he thought as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

The next day, Riah was fine, dismissed her nausea the day before as something she must have eaten. Casey didn’t point out they had eaten the same things, but he had experienced no ill effects. He swallowed the urge to ask what he wanted—whether she might be pregnant.

A little over a week later, she was sick again. Casey wondered, looking at her wan face, what she thought. He could usually read her, but her face was closed, miserable, so he considered the possibility she had decided, for whatever reason, that she didn’t want to have children with him.

She had to have thought of all the reasons he had why they shouldn’t become parents. Casey was more certain than ever Beckman would soon give him orders for Bartowski and reassign him to his old unit before sending him back to Afghanistan. He could hardly refuse to go because Riah was pregnant, especially if Operation Moron was over. He didn’t want to retire, wasn’t ready to hang it all up, but he might have to.

After Riah gingerly ate a bowl of soup that evening, he pulled her down on the sofa with him, held her while they watched television, and wondered how to broach the possibility with her.

As they lay there, it finally occurred to him that it might not be so much she didn’t want to be pregnant as she might be afraid to be pregnant. It had ended badly the last time, she had been alone, and there were no guarantees it wouldn’t happen again.

Perhaps he should talk to her aunt Lydia. Since Riah had rarely mentioned her since they’d first started sleeping together, he’d need to find out if her aunt was still at UCLA, but that was a simple search, could be done without the government resources at his disposal. Riah would be pissed that he went around her, angry that he didn’t simply ask her, but Casey had a feeling she might not be completely honest with him if he did ask. She had to be suspicious, he thought, but she hadn’t even raised the possibility. He wondered if she was trying to ignore it, trying not to get excited in case it went wrong again.

He pulled her closer to him. Riah looked over her shoulder, frowned at him. Okay, so this might not be completely normal behavior for him, but this was far from a normal circumstance in his life.

Casey had to admit he’d never planned on marriage, a family—not after Kathleen, at least. As a result, he’d never really thought about what having a family of his own might mean, what changes would have to happen, and how he would have to adapt. Even after he asked Riah to marry him, he really hadn’t worked through all the changes having her permanently in his life would require.

He lay there, his body cradling hers and finally did what he really should have done sooner, considered whether a wife and family were truly what he wanted at this point in his life.

The funny thing was, his answer didn’t change. He wanted Riah in his life, and much as the possibility scared the hell out of him, he really did want a child with her. He smiled into her hair, considered the pros and cons of a son or daughter and realized he could be perfectly content with either one.

He also decided to give Riah space, to give her time and let her choose to tell him. He wouldn’t push her, no matter how much he wanted to, would let her be comfortable with the idea before she told him. Casey suspected she’d be spooked, would want to keep it to herself a while, so he considered ways in which he might get her to spill her suspicions, suspicions he knew she had to have.

 

Riah remained silent, though, moved forward without a word. Casey also realized she tried to hide the nausea and the increased tiredness, which just pissed him off. He wondered if it was because she was afraid he didn’t want this after all, because she didn’t want it, or because she was afraid of being pregnant. Regardless of what it was, he had to put a tight leash on his temper to keep himself from demanding she confirm what he firmly believed to be the case: she was pregnant.

Bartowski, predictably, noticed the tension, and if Casey was back to his default position with the kid—angry with a side of sarcasm—then he tried not to feel guilty that he took his frustration with Riah’s silence out on Chuck. This was one of those times when he didn’t want the kid’s overwhelming concern, and somewhere in mid-mental bitch, Casey realized he might be able to use Bartowski to force the issue. After all, Chuck had known before, so it wasn’t much of a stretch to think he could figure it out a second time.

Casey gave some thought to how to manipulate Bartowski into forcing Riah’s hand.

In the end, it didn’t come to that. That evening Casey followed Riah to their bedroom after work. She had been distracted since they left the Buy More—before that, if he were honest. She went to the bathroom while he changed, and after he checked for messages and replied to a couple that needed immediate responses, Casey discovered Riah was still in there. Despite his certainty that she was pregnant, he had begun to worry that she was sliding back into the depression that had plagued her. He could understand it. After all, she had to give up her job soon, leaving her with only the Buy More or whatever job she could find in its place, and if she really was pregnant, then it had to be bringing back what had happened the last time.

He rapped his knuckles against the closed door, yet she didn’t respond. He knew she hadn’t come out, which worried him. He called her name, but she still didn’t answer. He reached for the doorknob. When Casey entered, Riah sat on the side of the tub, white-faced, and leaned against the tiled wall. He vividly remembered the panic attack she had had in Chicago. This looked very much like that. She struggled to breathe and hugged herself tightly. Rushing over to her, Casey watched her mouth move, but no sound other than her ragged attempt to breathe escaped her. He lifted her to her feet. She stared at him in agony, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe, either. “Riah,” he said, trying not to panic with her, “Riah, breathe.”

She still fought for breath, but he pulled her to him, careful not to squeeze her so that he didn’t in any way constrict her ability to breathe. “Breathe,” Casey told her. “Please, just breathe.”

After a few moments of coaxing her to relax, to breathe, he wondered what had caused this. “Riah,” he asked, leaned down to look into her agonized eyes, “what’s wrong?”

Riah shook her head faintly. Her mouth moved. Two words, he thought, frowning. Her mouth moved again, and he thought, no, two syllables. He was about to ask her again when a faint sound accompanied the movement of her mouth.

Casey’s chest seized when he realized what she was trying to say. He understood fully her panic. “You’re sure?” he asked, an edge to his voice he hadn’t intended. It had been one thing to believe it was so, but it was an entirely different one to have her confirm it. She nodded, white-faced. He pulled her back against him. He resisted tightening his hug. He wanted to laugh. He felt faint. He wanted to kiss her breathless—but she already was.

She had been trying to say _baby_.

His hand slid from her back to her abdomen, and though she felt no different to his touch, he still held his hand there, his palm roughly where he thought their child grew. Casey had a million questions roiling in his head, and he was barely able to stop them all tumbling out. There was plenty of time once she calmed down, once the panic subsided. That didn’t stop him from pressing kisses against her face. He avoided her mouth for the moment, not wanting to impede her fight for air. Finally, he felt her relax into him. When he was sure her panic had receded, he took her mouth, kissed her gently.

It had nearly killed him to learn she had been pregnant the year before and had miscarried. Casey had hated that he hadn’t known and hadn’t been with her. That, he was determined, would not happen again. He wondered, though, why finding out she was pregnant had set her off like this. They had both agreed they wanted children, had both agreed to let what happened happen. He realized his lingering uncertainty vanished now that it was a certainty and not a probability. He pulled Riah back against him and rubbed her back.

“Christ,” he breathed and pressed his lips against her forehead. “You scared the hell out of me.” He held her for a while, and when she finally fully relaxed, sagged against him, he asked, “What happened?” She tensed as Casey eased her away from him to once more search her pale face.

Again her mouth moved, but no sound escaped her. He watched her closely, frowned as Riah tried once more: “Baby.”

He was overjoyed he hadn’t misinterpreted her. Casey cupped her cheek. “Riah?”

She closed her eyes and whispered it again. “Baby.” He sealed his mouth to hers before she could say any more. Riah responded, so he slid his hand over her abdomen again, let it rest there. For a while, he just held her. Eventually, she relaxed more. “You’re sure?” he asked again. She nodded. He lifted her face. “Absolutely sure?” She nodded once more, and he kissed her again.

Casey wanted to ask why that would induce a panic attack, but he bit back the words. Her first pregnancy had ended badly, so he figured she was simply afraid history would repeat itself.

He fished his phone out of his pocket. He couldn’t wait to tell his mother, and Casey wondered if he could convince Riah to let him be the one who told Ariel. He thought he might enjoy testing whether or not she would put Riah’s happiness first. If she didn’t, he knew he would enjoy teaching her to have more respect for her daughter and her choices. He definitely intended to be the one who told V. H. Riah, though, snatched the phone from him and quickly turned it off—kept it, too, rather than return it to him.

Before he could complain, she said, “I don’t want anyone to know, not yet.”

Why on earth would she not want to tell their families at the very least? It wasn’t like it was something they would be able to hide. As the child grew, so would Riah.

“I don’t want to tell anyone until we know it won’t happen again,” she said. Casey heard a hint of a wheeze in her breathless voice. “I can’t bear it if it happens again,” she whispered brokenly and clung more tightly to him.

Casey gathered her closer. He could understand that. He wasn’t sure he could bear it, either, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to tell nearly everyone they knew they were going to have a baby. “Riah?”

“I just panicked, John,” she told him. She breathed deeply a moment, and he focused, watched to see if she would panic once more. “I want this. I really do. I just can’t—I just don’t want—” He listened as patiently as he could manage as she breathed in once more, tried again. “I want to keep it between us for now. When we’re sure I won’t . . . lose . . . won’t mis- . . . .” She floundered to a stop.

Casey wrapped his arms around her waist then lifted her up. She wound her arms around his neck, and he promised, “Whatever you want.” He sealed that promise with a kiss.

“You’re okay with this?” she asked when their mouths parted.

Casey was more than okay with it. He wondered how best to convince her, especially since her words and her tone indicated she wasn’t sure despite the things they had said to one another when he asked her to marry him. He wondered that she could doubt, conveniently ignored his own doubts, especially since he thought he’d more than made up for having convinced her he didn’t want to be a father. He hadn’t wanted to impregnate her when he wasn’t sure what it was he felt for her, but now he did know, and the idea that he could have a family sent intoxicating emotion coursing through him. “Yes. Yes,” he told her fervently and kissed her. Then he deliberately echoed her words. “I want this.”

It was funny, he thought, how he’d never imagined the news that he would be a father would make him want to reinforce how he felt about her, but somehow all he could think about was showing Riah how much he wanted her, how much he loved her. Casey had never been a man of words, so he carried her to bed, stripped her and worshipped her body with his. Riah apparently felt the same way since she tore at his clothes and did her best to return the reverence with her mouth, hands and body. Despite the urgency to reach skin, once they did, they took their time, and Casey forgot about everything but her, this, the feel and taste of her.

When they were both satisfied, he grinned down at her, and she looked almost drunkenly happy as she smiled widely up at him. Riah reached up and kissed him. “You know,” she said, her voice low, smoky. It did things to him, so he put his mouth under her jaw, kissed a line along her throat. “This is what got us in this condition in the first place.”

He made a satisfied rumble against her throat. When her words sank in, Casey lifted his head and raised his brows. “Us?”

She lifted a brow of her own. Casey liked the self-satisfied little smile that curved Riah’s mouth. It was a decided improvement over the terrified expression she had worn earlier. “You’re in this as much as I am, Major, and since I get the harder part of the job, you’re going to have to spend many, many months appeasing me.”

That was an idea Casey rather liked, he realized. He did, however, wonder how long he could appease her. Her words implied for a long time, but he decided it was time to find out what was going to happen to her and to her body over the next several months. He didn’t want to do anything that might cause her to lose the baby, and he didn’t know if sex would be good for her given she had had one miscarriage. He had his own moment of panic as he wondered if what they had just done might not cause problems.

She didn’t seem anything but sated, pleased, so he dropped a kiss on her breast, ran his tongue around her nipple, and smiled when Riah arched into him with a soft moan. “I take it that appeases you?” he said against her skin before he drew her nipple into his mouth. He suckled on it, wondered a moment if she would choose to breastfeed their child rather than use bottles. Casey decided he should enjoy the privilege of having her breasts to himself while he could.

Her fingers threaded through his hair as he suckled her. “It’s a good start.”

When he released her breast, he reached a hand up and softly stroked a piece of hair out of her face. “Think we should move the wedding forward?” He would move heaven and earth to do it for her, though as they talked through it, they both realized that unless they wanted to rush things, sacrifice the possibility their family and friends could make an earlier date, they would be wiser to stay with the one they had already chosen and for which Riah had already sent out invitations. It didn’t make Casey all that happy, especially when he realized Riah was mortified by the fact she would be several months pregnant when she walked down the aisle, but Casey realized that didn’t bother him at all. It wasn’t like their family and friends didn’t know they slept together, and it wasn’t like their families and a handful of other people didn’t know she had been pregnant the year before.

As a result, when Riah asked if that would embarrass him, he honestly told her that it didn’t matter to him. She rewarded him by stroking a hand up over his chest and shoulder to cup his cheek. She ran her thumb over his lower lip, a signal whose meaning Casey easily recognized meant, usually, that she wanted him. Despite his earlier concerns, he was happy to oblige her. He did so slowly, gently, and when they finished, he kissed her before sliding slowly down her body and opening his mouth against her still flat stomach. He kissed her belly and then rubbed his cheek against her abdomen.

“I’ll appease you again later,” he told her, “but for now, I think we should celebrate.”

It took some time to persuade her to get dressed and go out to dinner. Riah chose the little Italian place they both liked. By the time she ordered dessert, Casey decided he didn’t mind keeping this to themselves.

 

Casey wasn’t sure what woke him, but he rolled his face against flesh and remembered where he was and why. They had celebrated again when they got home. He lifted off Riah, who was still asleep. She wore a faint smile and absolutely nothing else. It suited her, he thought. Moving slowly, he rose from the bed and drew the covers over her. She stirred, rolled to her side, so he waited, held his breath as she slid further into sleep once more.

He had a few things he needed to do because Riah was pregnant. He pulled on a pair of pants and headed out the bedroom door. He couldn’t stop the grin. Pregnant. Riah was pregnant. Again. The grin vanished as Casey realized he couldn’t tell anyone, and he desperately wanted to tell a few people. Bartowski and Walker were two he’d like to tell, if for no other reason than they could help watch out for Riah when the job took him away from her. Ellie was another, and not just because she was a doctor. Bartowski’s sister was Riah’s friend, so she, too, would make sure nothing happened to Riah and their child if she could prevent it.

There were many things to consider, many issues he needed to look into. If anything happened to him, Casey wanted to know that Riah and the baby would be taken care of. He’d added her name to the things he had, but that wasn’t exactly the kind of protection he had in mind.

It took a few hours to answer several questions he had, and when he had the answers, Casey began setting his plan in motion.

 

The following morning, Riah told him over breakfast she’d call her aunt and make an appointment. Casey told her he wanted to be there. She gave him a thoughtful look. “You know you’ll be drowning in estrogen, right?”

He stifled the snort. “I think I can take it.”

She made the call, set the appointment for early the following week and early enough in the morning that they could go before they went to the Buy More for work.

Casey quietly continued setting his own plans in place. He slipped away from the Buy More sales floor to make a few phone calls of his own. Riah might be pissed off at what he was doing, but he had a feeling she’d get over it.

 

She hadn’t been kidding about drowning in estrogen, Casey realized as he sat beside her, the only man in a room full of women. At least the room wasn’t pink, and the furniture was comfortable but not girly. The magazine choices included _Guns & Ammo_, which indicated testosterone occasionally made an appearance in the waiting room. Despite the fact Casey had already read the issues on the table, he picked one up so Riah might relax when they had completed the required paperwork.

Frankly, Casey thought the U.S. government had been less nosy in his security clearance investigation, but he’d written on the form what he could answer truthfully.

When they were in an examination room and her aunt trailed by a battle axe of a nurse entered, Casey studied Lydia Pentangeli. He noticed she measured him as well before she turned to her niece and got down to business. Riah blushed her way through the questions her aunt asked, and Casey watched, intrigued that Riah seemed embarrassed to have to discuss her condition. He wondered if it was because Lydia was her aunt, because he was there, or because she was embarrassed to be pregnant.

Her aunt, though, remained professional, did what she could to put Riah at ease. When Lydia left to check on the test results she had run, Riah had given him an uncomfortable smile.

“You could have found another doctor,” Casey told her.

“Lydia’s the best, and she won’t tell anyone if I don’t want her to.”

Why that reminded him of what she had said about psychiatrists betraying her because of who her mother was, he wasn’t sure. He wondered, though, whether Lydia might tell Ariel despite what Riah believed, and he wondered what Riah’s mother would have to say when she found out. Casey suspected there would be a full-court press to move the wedding up, so he decided he and Riah needed to talk strategy.

When Lydia breezed in, she stared at a chart as she closed the door behind her. “Definitely pregnant,” she said and smiled at her niece. “I told you Casey would appreciate the book.”

Casey snorted, remembered he’d told Riah he owed her aunt. “Very educational,” he agreed as Riah’s blush deepened.

Lydia snorted in return. “Something tells me your education was not lacking, Casey.” She looked at her niece then. “You should deliver some time around November 4,” she told her.

“The eleventh,” Riah corrected with a certainty that had Casey wondering why she would correct a woman whose business it was to know.

“It could be two weeks either way, Mariah,” Lydia cautioned. “We’ll have a better idea when we do the first ultrasound.” She went on to talk about warning signs, vitamins, iron supplements, diet, and exercise. She talked about Riah’s depression, asked if she was still taking anti-depressants or other medication. Riah shook her head. Casey listened as Lydia warned her they might need to put her back on it, that pregnancy could trigger her depression, and since she had miscarried once before, she was worried about Riah’s well-being, physical as well as mental.

Lydia looked at him when she told them it was probable the pregnancy would be normal but there were no guarantees. Casey listened closely, and then he asked questions Lydia took seriously despite the fact he could read amusement in her eyes.

He was relieved to learn they could continue having sex, though Casey would make the sacrifice if he had to. Riah’s aunt explained that could change depending on how the pregnancy progressed but, she assured him, there were options. Casey was pretty sure he was the one blushing when she ran through that particular list. She told Riah they would monitor her carefully, that she wanted to see her more often than she had the last time, and she warned her niece that there was a possibility she might put Riah on bedrest depending on what she saw as the baby developed.

When Riah told her she didn’t want anyone to know, Lydia studied her. “Your choice, Mariah, but you should probably let V. H. know. You shouldn’t take some of the risks your job often requires.”

Riah paled, told her aunt that she would soon resign from ISI.

Lydia, Casey noted, looked relieved. “That’s just as well, Mariah.” He was a little pissed off by that remark, but he bit back a response when she told her niece, “That’s not a comment about your capability to do the work, Mariah, but one directed at your health.”

Reassured that Riah was in no undue risk, Casey returned to the plans he had put in place. He asked Beckman for a couple of personal days. When pushed for why, he told her he’d like to take Riah somewhere quiet for a weekend. Since Bartowski was the one in a cast this time after the idiocy with Cole Barker, Casey figured it was a good time for a couple of days away.

To his surprise, Beckman let him have the time off with no complaints. He had several serious suspicions about why, but he didn’t ask, chose instead to accept her agreement on face value. Casey arranged their days off with Big Mike, unwilling to involve Milbarge. As a result, Riah sat beside Casey as he drove up the coast on Friday morning. They had thirty-six hours where they didn’t need to be with the Intersect, so he told her he wanted to go somewhere, just the two of them, where the phone wouldn’t ring unless all hell had broken loose.

The deal he’d made with Beckman meant he only had the two days and had to return to Echo Park on a moment’s notice if necessary. Beckman further told him she was evaluating Operation Bartowski and would consider either shutting it down or making changes in the operating procedures. She asked if he was interested in returning to his old unit, depending on proposed changes. He had agreed he’d be happy to be useful again, but he didn’t admit that he would agree to practically any terms she offered if for no other reason than he rarely got time where he wasn’t accessible to Bartowski or Walker. After all, Casey looked forward to having Riah all to himself. He had to admit he was also glad to get away from Ellie and her fiance as well as the madness of their looming wedding.

Thankfully, Riah seemed particularly level-headed where their own plans were concerned. Casey felt a moment’s guilt for largely leaving her to negotiate and restrain her mother’s excesses. They had agreed on small and quiet, but Ariel kept managing to try and expand those parameters.

 

When they finally left Los Angeles, he held Riah’s left hand on his thigh as he drove. His thumb toyed with her engagement ring, and occasionally, he lifted her hand to kiss it. He had refused to tell Riah where they were going, but she hadn’t pushed very hard to get him to tell her. He’d told her it was a surprise, that they’d be gone two days and one night when she asked. Given how much she hated surprises, he was astonished she didn’t insist on knowing what he had in mind. That, strangely, bothered him, though he wasn’t sure why.

They stopped on the coast for lunch. He took her to a restaurant an old friend who lived in the area had recommended. Casey considered how to broach what he intended with Riah as they ate. When they finished lunch and Casey had settled the bill, he took her hand and walked her to a green belt near the restaurant, one of the locations he’d plotted out. He sat her on a bench beneath a large, leafy tree, sat down next to her, and turned to face her. Riah didn’t seem to mind, but he could read the uncertainty on her face. He could tell she was trying to figure out why he would do something so uncharacteristic for him.

Casey trailed the fingers of his right hand along her cheek, bent toward her and asked, “How about getting married today?”


	21. Chapter 21

It was obvious Casey had taken Riah by surprise. Her eyes shot wide, filled with suspicion, as she paled. For a second he thought she might be afraid this would completely thwart her mother’s plans for their wedding, despite not liking those plans. “We—we’d have to get a license,” she stammered, “and that takes time.”

Of all the excuses he had expected he might have to counter, that hadn’t made the list. He’d done the research, knew there were two kinds of marriage licenses in California, including the one he intended they get. He had no intention of cancelling their July wedding, mainly because he didn’t want to listen to years of whining from the women in both their families. He knew, though, that the wedding they planned might not happen as or when they intended. For one, he was going overseas on one of Beckman’s side jobs in the next few days. Assuming he survived that, he also knew Beckman was considering shutting down the Intersect project completely, and if she did, he’d go back to command his old unit. He wanted to know Riah and the baby were legally protected in the event something happened to him.

He watched her carefully a moment before he responded to her. “Not in California.”

It wasn’t the least bit difficult to read Riah’s confusion, but he waited, curious whether she would throw any other impediments at him. She frowned while Casey watched her think. When she finally spoke, her voice was faint, a little breathless. “Today?”

Cupping her cheek, Casey leaned in to kiss her. “We can get a license from a county clerk without having to wait,” he explained softly. “I have a friend, a minister, who can marry us this evening.” He leaned closer, let his mouth coax hers. “What do you say?”

Riah’s expression shifted several times as he waited. When it finally landed on suspicious, Casey wondered if she thought he’d finally had enough of the jokes over the date they’d chosen, an idea reinforced by a sort of wince and her soft, shaky, “We’re supposed to get married in July.”

From the look of her, it was possible she would refuse to do as he wished, would instead make him wait until that July date. Casey considered other arguments she might offer and a few arguments of his own that might persuade her. When she said nothing further, he simply assured her, “We will.” She cocked her head, stared thoughtfully at him. He knew he had to explain the change in plan. “Riah, I’m about to get another assignment from General Beckman. I’m going overseas again. It’s dangerous, and I want to make sure you’re taken care of, protected, if something happens—you and the baby.”

It only took a second for the panic to well up. Before he could reassure her, she breathed, “John, don’t.” Her voice shook, her eyes filled, and she trembled against him. He knew what she thought, knew her trainers likely had the same superstitions his had had. After all, nearly every agent was a believer in the self-fulfilling prophecy: if you thought you’d die, you usually did.

There wasn’t time to lay her concerns fully to rest, and any reassurances Casey could give her might well prove to be untrue. He knew the risks, and so did she. He was at least glad the tears remained unshed—so far. His thumb lightly stroked over her cheekbone as he leaned down so that he was eye-to-eye with her. “Riah, I might not come back—at least not alive. You know it; I know it.” If nothing else, his last assignment in Gaza should have made that clear. “I’d feel better if I knew you had rights, if you were already my wife.” He trailed off, slid his other hand over her abdomen. “That way you’ll both be taken care of.”

Riah’s eyes met his. There was a moment when he thought she would remind him of the paperwork he’d had drawn up and sent to her before he left for Gaza. Then, her troubled gaze cleared and a tiny, uncertain smile tipped her lips. “Yes,” she whispered, before she reached up to cradle his face. He murmured that he loved her and lowered his mouth to hers, grateful she didn’t continue her protests.

They drove on, went to Salinas. Casey held her hand in his and hoped she wouldn’t change her mind. Once they were inside the clerk’s office standing at the counter, he told the woman behind it what they wanted. She asked if they wanted a regular or confidential license. Casey told her they wanted the confidential license. While the clerk found the correct forms, he leaned down and quietly explained to Riah that it would take a court order for anyone to find out they had gotten married. Another bonus was that this particular license meant they wouldn’t need witnesses.

As they waited, he realized that sounded eerily similar to his job: secret, preferably without witnesses.

Riah leaned into him and raised her brows. “That should keep our mothers from killing us.”

Casey snorted. “Your mother is the unreasonable one.” Truth was, he had the distinct impression his mother might prove less than reasonable if she ever found out what they were about to do. She’d made it more than plain to him when she visited him in Maryland after the Gaza disaster that she had waited a very long time to see her son married.

They showed identification, and Casey noticed Riah pulled out her Canadian passport. The woman shook her head, gave a funny smile as she inspected it. When she handed it back to Riah, she said, “You’re my second Canadian today.”

It didn’t take long to complete the application, though at one point Riah asked him softly if this was actually legal. He gruffly assured her it was. There were several places in the U.S. that allowed couples to get a license and marry immediately, but only California allowed them to do so and keep it concealed. _God bless celebrities_ , he thought as he handed over the form, for once charitable toward a group of people for whom he generally had little use. He wasn’t about to say that to Riah, though, since his view was clouded by her mother and her mother’s friends.

To his amusement, they had to sign an affidavit that they had been living as man and wife. There was a brief moment when Casey thought Riah was going to ask the clerk for clarifcation about what, exactly, that meant. Thankfully, she didn’t. The clerk explained to Riah about California’s name law, how she could choose her own last name, and when she filled in Mariah Elizabeth Casey, he couldn’t help feeling satisfied she wouldn’t keep her maiden name or hyphenate her last name.

So he was a sexist pig. Casey knew that was exactly how her mother would see it.

As they left the clerk’s office, Casey slipped the folded license inside his jacket pocket. Riah stopped cold outside the building. She looked up at him when he turned to ask her what was wrong. “I need to go shopping,” she said before she went crimson.

He frowned down at her, mildly irritated by her unusual girly moment, mostly because they were on a carefully plotted timeline if what he’d planned were to come off successfully. When he asked why, Riah told him she had only brought casual clothes, which was when Casey realized he should have told her she needed to bring something other than jeans. He admitted he’d brought a suit when she asked, so he looked at his watch and asked how long she thought she needed. Riah shrugged, suggested an hour.

Since neither of them were familiar with Salinas, Riah asked him to take her to the mall. Once there, he walked in with her. Riah looked up at him, and it wasn’t hard to see she was abou to tell Casey to get lost. He reconciled himself to letting her out of sight to shop. He told her he’d be in the food court. On the way there, he stopped in a bookstore, bought a paper and a cup of decent coffee. After he reached his destination, he found a table that provided a vantage point that allowed him to watch people come and go from all entrances to the area. He made himself comfortable and made a call, explained there would likely be a slight delay and renegotiated the timeline.

Casey was surprised Riah didn’t use the entire hour. He knew she hadn’t because he shot a look at his watch when he saw her approach. She carried a dress bag, a distinctive pink bag he recognized as one from Victoria’s Secret, and another that held shoes.

_Women_ , he thought with a derisive snort, as he stood to intercept her. Then again, she’d apparently been highly efficient at her task, so Riah probably didn’t deserve his Pavlovian snide thought. It was only then he realized they had another bit of shopping to do.

When she reached him, Casey took her dress and the other two bags. He tried to peek in the bag with the lingerie shop’s logo, but whatever she’d bought had been packed into pink tissue. After he’d put her purchases in the car, he took her hand and told her they had one more thing to do. He led her back in the mall to a jeweller’s. He stopped outside the store he’d selected. “We can buy something to go with your ring, if we find something suitable,” he said, “or we can just buy plain bands for the moment and get something else for July.”

Thankfully, she understood that as the question he intended. She chewed thoughtfully at her lower lip a moment before she stammered that she didn’t care. Then Riah frowned and asked, “You intend to wear a ring?”

Casey gave her a look that was only marginally softer than the look he usually gave Bartowski when the younger man said something idiotic. He fully intended to do so, though, admittedly, if they were keeping this quiet, it was more likely to lie in a drawer until they were officially married. After all, if she wore his, he’d wear hers.

They looked at platinum, but Casey didn’t like any of the ones the store carried. Riah didn’t look enthusiastic, either, to the chagrin of the salesman. The few Riah tried on looked cheap next to her engagement ring. The man behind the counter looked at him like he was a lunatic when Casey asked him to show them plain gold bands. Casey gave him such a hard stare that he didn’t dare argue. He watched Riah bite back her amusement as she looked at the rings. “We’ll find something later that matches yours,” he promised once more. He had a feeling he’d need to pay a visit to Tiffany’s again in order to deliver on that particular promise.

After a few moments, he realized Riah only considered cheap, thin, bands. He was determined to buy her something better. He plucked up a much thicker, better quality ring before asking what she thought. She eyed him as he continued to hold it out to her. She finally slipped her engagement ring off. Casey slid the band over her now-bare finger. It fit. Riah examined it carefully, turned her hand back and forth, presumably to catch the light. When she met his eyes and nodded, Casey gently slid it off, handed it to the man behind the counter and said they’d take it.

Riah pointed to its mate, and when they had found one to fit Casey’s finger, it, too, was handed to the jeweller. She insisted on paying for his ring. Not wanting another argument like the one they’d had over her engagement ring, Casey gave in, though admittedly not very gracefully.

She carried the bag with the ring boxes back to his car. They drove on while he explained that he’d made reservations at a bed and breakfast on the coast near Big Sur. It was owned by the former chaplain for his old unit, he told her, and the man would marry them that evening. Tim had a lucrative wedding business he ran from his B & B.

“You had this all planned out, didn’t you?”

He gave her a quick look followed by a short snort. “Course.” By now, Riah should have realized he wasn’t exactly prone to spontaneous acts except during the middle of an assignment rapidly going wrong. Generally speaking, Casey preferred to know exactly what he was going to do and exactly what the likely outcomes were, though he would concede that things didn’t always go to plan. He believed in contingency planning, and he had carefully considered what he would have done had she rejected his request to go ahead and get married.

Casey bit back the instinctive smile. He knew how to persuade her, and he would have exercised each and every method until he got the required result. After all, they’d been together long enough he knew how to exploit her responsiveness in order to get what he wanted. Riah almost never complained, either, he acknowledged smugly, even when she figured out he had manipulated her.

Riah leaned back in the seat and rolled her head toward him. For a split second, Casey wondered if she’d back out now that he had, essentially, admitted he’d planned a wedding and not consulted her. “What if I had said no, insisted on waiting until the date we’d already set?”

A small grin slashed across Casey’s face. “I would have persuaded you.”

“That sure of yourself, Major?” He didn’t answer, but she apparently didn’t expect him to since she turned to stare out the window at the landscape rolling past. “You know,” Riah added after a while, “we can’t tell anyone about this.”

Since that was part of the point of the license they’d just obtained, Casey didn’t feel a need to respond. When he didn’t say anything, she turned to look at him. “There would be no July wedding,” Riah said with a grin. “I’d be alright with that, but I think our mothers would kill us.” That smile slid to a dangerous grin. “On the other hand, if I like your work here, you can take over the planning for July.”

She was undoubtedly right about the odds on their mothers committing homicide. On the other hand, Casey had no intention of battling her mother over wedding plans. “Since I’ve done my part here, I think that’s still your job—unless you’d like your mother to wind up a victim of rendition or an execution.”

Riah grinned broadly, but when he shot a look at her, it was obvious she didn’t believe him. He’d have to work on that. “Hmm. On which date will we celebrate our anniversary?” she teased.

“If we want to live,” he told her, arched a brow and gave her a slight grin, “July 4.”

She laughed. Neither of them could ever confess what they would do that evening. Bartowski’s lady feelings would be crushed, and Casey had a feeling that would prove true for most of their friends and family. Emma MacKenzie might kneecap them—or just catch Casey off guard and knee him since it would cheat her out of being maid of honor. His future sister-in-law had a temper, he had come to realize, and when coupled with smarts that rivaled Riah’s and a ruthless streak inherited from their mother, he figured Emma would disable him handily.

The bed and breakfast was a monster of a house on the rocky coast. The huge, late nineteenth century home oddly suited its setting. He’d known Riah would like it when Tim Andrews e-mailed him the directions and some pictures. She stared out at the ocean as he got their bags. A slight smile curved her lips, and Casey realized the coast resembled Newfoundland. Casey’s friend greeted them at the front desk, and after he introduced Riah to the former chaplain, Tim told Casey everything was ready, asked for the license—which Casey handed over—and then asked what time they’d like to hold the ceremony.

When Casey looked at Riah, noted her pinched face and more tears gathering, he got a the sinking feeling that thought she would balk, rebel because he hadn’t consulted her about any of this. He sought the words to defuse her, but then she asked Tim what time the sun set. Curious, Casey listened to the other two and realized Riah was going to go for at least one cliché after all. He wondered if it was her way of getting some of her own back, but then she blushed. “At home, I always used to walk the shore at sunset—sunrise, too.” She looked at Casey, then, and added, “They’re my favorite times of day.” She asked if they could get married just before sunset. Casey shrugged his consent at Tim who agreed and gave them a time to meet for the ceremony.

She waited patiently as Tim checked them in and then took them upstairs where he and Casey left Riah and her things in the room where she and Casey would spend their wedding night. Casey kissed her and then followed Tim back down to his office.

“I can honestly say, Casey,” the other man began as he found two glasses and a bottle of scotch, “that when you called me and told me what you had in mind, I figured one of us had lost his mind.”

Casey grunted. He couldn’t hold it against Tim, especially since Casey had a carefully built reputation as a confirmed bachelor. “Must have been you,” he retorted as he accepted a glass.

Tim shook his head, then grinned. “She’s a pretty thing.”

He nodded agreement, took no offense since it was an obvious fact, but he did wonder whether he would continue to hear variations on Paul Patterson’s pretty little girl from everyone he’d served with.

“Bit young, isn’t she?”

His amusement vanished, and his face hardened. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that one, either, but it irritated Casey every time he did.

Tim shrugged, raised his glass. “Fearless, though, if she’s willing to take you on.”

Casey gave another grunt, sipped at his own drink and considered that. He wouldn’t call Riah fearless, exactly, even though he knew he wasn’t exactly easy to live with. He was old enough to be set in his ways, but so far Riah hadn’t really asked anything of him he wasn’t willing to do—at least not yet. As he gave it some thought, Casey realized he wasn’t entirely sure about some of the changes they would both have to make given her condition. He considered telling Tim she was pregnant, but he’d promised to say nothing until Riah was sure another miscarriage was unlikely. Tim would keep the confidence, Casey knew, but he decided to honor her wishes.

One thing he’d not shared with Riah was the phone call from her aunt after her first checkup. Lydia told him she was worried about her niece and made him promise to watch her carefully, made him promise he would contact her if Riah seemed to slide into depression again. She also ran him through a checklist of things to watch for that could indicate something was going wrong with Riah’s pregnancy, finished with, “I don’t think she can survive it a second, time, Casey.”

Because he worried about her emotional state as well, he decided not to risk angering her, so he didn’t tell Tim why he had decided to push ahead and marry her right away.

“We have what you asked for,” Tim told him. “My staff will set it up in your room while we go do the deed.” He tipped a bit more scotch in Casey’s glass and then in his own before he lifted a brow and asked, “Are you sure you don’t want champagne?”

Casey told the lie, mainly because to do otherwise meant he would have to admit Riah was pregnant. “Riah doesn’t drink.” He didn’t feel guilty for the deception since it would be true for the next several months.

That particular lie, though, led to merciless teasing. Tim was more than a little amused by the idea that Casey was marrying a prim and proper woman, one who didn’t drink, and he asked what other of Casey’s vices she failed to share. Casey didn’t disabuse him. Riah, like him, wasn’t exactly a saint, but she certainly hadn’t sinned at quite his level. Casey bore it well, and when Tim decided to remind him of some of his more colorful transgressions, he laughed, remembered a few of them fondly and hoped Riah never found out. Then again, she seemed to roll pretty well with most of the revelations about Casey’s past.

When he went to Tim’s quarters to shower and change, he considered the list of things he hadn’t told Riah about that past. There were some things he would likely have to admit, but it was so ingrained in him to hide the truth that he struggled with the notion he ought to make a few confessions. It was a calculated risk to hope he might never have to reveal some of the things he’d done, so he weighed carefully what it might be best to leave hidden. He thought about what he could tell her, what he should tell her, and what should remain unsaid. As he shrugged on his suit jacket, he decided he had no intention of telling his wife lies. He didn’t want a relationship built on falsehoods, though he wondered, given his job, how he could be honest with her and still protect what he must.

He had no answer for that question, and that troubled him most of all.

Casey handed his bag to the maid who would take it to Riah’s room while they got married. Tim suggested he go get Riah since it was nearly time. Casey climbed the stairs and wondered what she thought about getting married with no family or friends in attendance. They were both private people, each for their own reasons. He had to admit he didn’t really look forward to July or the formal, high-ceremony ritual he’d likely be put through if Riah’s mother finally wore her down. While a part of him liked the idea of claiming Riah in front of those absent family and friends, Casey would prefer something far simpler than the “suggestions” Ariel kept firing at them. This evening, though, it would be just the two of them, which made it mean all the more to him. July might be for show, but this felt strangely right to him, real in a way he didn’t think the other ceremony would.

It was odd to stand before her door and realize he was nervous. Casey shook his head, breathed in deeply, gathered his courage, and knocked softly. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt this way, though when she opened the door, it disappeared.

The dress she bought was a soft, green silk that left her arms and shoulders bare while its hem skimmed the floor. The neckline angled up to her collarbones and connected to the matching back with strips of the same fabric. She’d put her hair up, and she wore the green garnets he’d given her for her birthday in her ears. She had a length of matching green fabric tucked over her elbows that trailed to the floor.

Casey stared solemnly at her, said nothing. Finally, when he noticed she began to look worried, fidgeted uncomfortably, he cleared his throat. “You look—“ he swallowed. “You look beautiful.”

Her smile dawned nearly as bright as one of Bartowski’s. “So do you,” she whispered.

“Hate to break it to you,” he told her as he reached out and drew her against him, “but men aren’t beautiful.”

The smile slid to grin. “Fat lot you know.”

Casey ignored that, was about to suggest they go, but he hesitated, eyed the thin fabric of her dress. “Will you be cold?”

Riah gave him another smile. “I’m Canadian, John. Though I’ve been spoiled by a year in southern California, this evening’s predicted temperature is shirt-sleeve weather where I normally live.”

As they decended the stairs, Casey saw Tim waited at the foot. They attracted a few looks from other guests, but Casey ignored them. Tim suggested they go before they lost the light, so Casey let him lead the way to where the chaplain would marry them. As they walked, Casey slipped a hand into his trouser pocket where he had stuck their rings, made sure both were there.

As Casey stood there beside Riah, they faced the ocean as the short service began. She looked up at him as she said her vows. Casey, listening intently to her voice, noticed it faltered slightly when she did. He repeated his own vows. When he slid her wedding band into place, Casey noticed Riah must have removed her engagement ring before he collected her. Her hand shook, and she almost dropped his ring when it was her turn to slide his on his ring finger. His breath froze when he bent to kiss her. Only then did Casey realize a few tears leaked from her eyes. Riah whispered, “Happy,” then smiled. “I’m pregnant, John. Everything makes me cry.” Then she melted into the gentle touch of his mouth on hers.

Tim shook Riah’s hand then kissed her cheek, made her laugh when he said, solemnly but with a wicked twinkle, “May God help you, Mariah, with the tribulations you are likely to endure with this one.” Casey’s scowl made Tim grin when the other man turned to congratulate him. They stood a moment in the dying sun to let Tim take a photograph, and then Casey bent and kissed her again before they returned to the bed and breakfast and signed the paperwork. Tim explained he would file the license for them so their marriage was legal.

“Everything else a go?” Casey asked when business was out of the way.

Tim grinned and nodded. “Enjoy,” he said.

Casey led Riah back upstairs where they made their way to the room where she had prepared for their wedding. Casey’s things had been moved in while they were married, and the small sitting area was set for dinner. Casey noticed Riah approved of the prettily set table and candles. So did he, though he wasn’t about to admit it. He answered the discreet knock on the door, and a waiter entered with their dinner. Casey seated her at the table, glad the waiter left after he had served them.

“No champagne,” he told her as he filled her glass with the same brand of sparkling cider she had for her birthday the previous year. Riah smiled as he recalled sitting beside her, trailing his hands over her while her mother watched them like a hawk. Neither Riah nor Ariel had been amused at the time, but Casey was downright fond of the memory, especially since he hoped to run his hands over pretty much every inch of her before the night was finished. With any luck, she’d reciprocate.

“I won’t mind if you have something else.”

He ignored that, though he had noticed Tim had sent up a bottle of Macallan. The steak was perfectly medium rare, exactly as Casey liked it, served with fingerling potatoes and grilled asparagus. Truthfully, he would have been happy with just about anything under the circumstances. He finished with a glass of scotch. When Riah pushed her plate away, Casey asked if she wanted any of the cake Tim’s staff had provided. She declined, so Casey reached across and took her hand. He stood, helped Riah to her feet, and kissed her. She leaned into him as his mouth moved over hers and his tongue slid inside her mouth.

Casey removed her clothes while Riah very thoughtfully worked at removing his. Buttons and zippers opened, and fabric slid. Hands and mouths explored. Sex was different that night, slower, softer, sweeter. Casey refused to think about leaving her soon, refused to think about why he’d done what he had that day. He intended to live in the now until he had to go.

 

“Riah?” he asked as he watched the shadows on the ceiling.

She sounded sleepy when she mumbled an answer.

He debated with himself a moment. Then he made promises that weren’t part of the vows they had exchanged. “I want you to know that while there are things I’ll never be able to tell you, I will never deliberately lie to you.”

Riah’s head lifted from his shoulder. Her eyes studied him. Casey could tell she was trying to figure out why he had told her that. “John?”

“I just won’t tell you anything if I can’t tell you the truth,” he continued. “I can’t promise I’ll always be with you when you need me, but I’ll do my best,” Casey said, ticked another item off the list of promises he felt really should have been part of the marriage vows, all things considered. “I plan to make sure that if you need me, you’ll always know how to find me or have me found.”

Her body moved, and she lifted on her elbows, looked down at him. “Is there something I need to know?” Riah asked. Casey could hear a healthy suspicion in her voice.

He rolled toward her, reached up and cradled her cheek. “Men who do what I do aren’t exactly reliable husbands.”

“Something tells me you will be,” she said softly, “but why are you saying these things?”

It was a good question, though he wasn’t entirely sure what the answer was. He suspected it had as much to do with the fact that there would always be secrets as it did with anything else. Casey was simply glad Riah had more faith in him than he had in himself, which let him finally admit, “I think Beckman’s close to shutting down the Intersect.” He shifted a little closer to her. “If she does, she’ll reassign me to my old unit, and that means I’ll be leaving you for much longer than the usual few days.”

In turn, Riah rolled closer to him. Casey appreciated that she didn’t ask what would happen to Bartowski. Riah was a smart woman, so he had a feeling she knew the answer to that unasked question. “I can’t say that makes me happy, John, but I’m not going to stop you.”

He stroked the hand on her cheek against her skin, let it glide to her nape and pulled her down so he could kiss her.

“I won’t lie to you, either, John, though, admittedly, I won’t have state secrets I’ll need to conceal soon.” She frowned. “I guess I’ll need to start the paperwork and the resignation procedures as soon as we get back.”

He’d managed to forget that—or at least ignore it—and he considered telling her to delay until closer to July. After all, Beckman had suggested just that, so the General could hardly complain if Riah waited a month or two more. On the other hand, if their early marriage ever came to light, it would negate the deal they had made—she had made—and he didn’t intend to give anyone cause to separate them. He caught her mouth again, rolled her to the side, and then studied her in the faint light from the still-burning candles.

“Riah,” he began, but this time she drew him to her, kissed him with a thoroughness he appreciated.

“Your past is your past, John,” she told him softly. “I don’t really need to know unless it isn’t really past.”

Perhaps he had a troubled conscience after all, because he nearly told her, nearly let it all spill out—Kathleen, Honduras, and all the ugly things he’d done. Then, he decided she was right. They were building a life together, a future, and the past should remain exactly that. To bring it up would serve no purpose, especially since she knew part of it, and the rest was unlikely to ever surface.

Curious, he asked, “Anything you feel compelled to tell me?”

She didn’t smile, which was what he expected. Instead, her face went solemn. The tip of her tongue traced her upper lip as she met his gaze. Casey waited, curious what she might tell him. “I’ve killed three men and two women.”

That, he had to admit, surprised him. “Did they deserve it?”

“Four of them did,” she said quietly, “but the other was unavoidable collateral damage.”

Undeniably curious, Casey was tempted to ask by what method, but something in her expression had him swallowing that particular question. He could hardly judge her, though. His body count was shockingly high, exponentially higher than hers, and there were always those in anyone’s count who were collateral damage, unavoidable or not. He knew that absolution never came, regardless of which column of the tally sheet the dead were counted, that those of them who were responsible for those hash marks simply learned to live with what they did. He pulled her closer, ran his hand slowly up and down her spine, and told her, “We all do what we have to.”

She nodded. “I’m not completely sorry to leave it.”

He’d been mad as hell that Riah had to quit because of him, but she, apparently, was fine with it. Casey considered that, considered how he’d feel if he were forced to do the same. He knew he wouldn’t be the least bit happy about it. “I assume you’ll want to leave the Buy More, too,” he said, “assuming Operation Moron is still in business.” She might as well, he supposed. It wasn’t like she would have any real reason to continue working there when she left ISI.

“I actually hadn’t given it much thought,” she admitted. “It’s something to do, but I can’t say I enjoy it all that much.” She tracked her hand over his chest to his shoulder. “I think, though, if the Intersect is still operational when my due date is close, that I’d like to quit, stay home.” Before he could ask, she met his eyes and added, “I can afford to stay home with the baby, but I suppose we still have to live the cover, so perhaps I should simply take maternity leave and go back so no one questions how we can afford to live on just your Buy More salary.”

He couldn’t argue with that, but he knew that if Beckman shut down the Intersect project, they would both leave the Buy More. “If this assignment is over by then,” he told her, “we’ll be in Maryland. You might find something else you might like to do.”

Riah gave him a wicked grin, rubbed against him, trailed her hands and other, more interesting parts along his skin and said, “I think that right now I’d like to do you.”

Casey snorted, rolled on his back, and surrendered.

 

As he drifted off to sleep after completing the nightly ritual he’d begun the night she told him she was pregnant—kissing her abdomen and saying goodnight to their child—he cradled Riah against him and wished it could always be like this.

 

The next morning they ate breakfast before they packed and checked out. Riah thanked Tim; Casey did as well. Tim handed Casey an envelope as they put the bags in the Vic’s trunk, and Casey grinned when he looked inside to see two copies of the photograph the chaplain had taken the night before. He accepted Tim’s congratulations again, shook hands, and got in the car.

Sunlight caught the wedding ring he still wore as he cut the steering wheel to reverse out of their parking spot. Casey regretted he’d have to remove it when they were back to their normal life, such as it was. When they arrived home, he knew, Riah would remove hers, replace it with her engagement ring, and return to playing his fiancee again.

He glanced over at her, saw Riah staring pensively out her window. He wondered what made her look that way, wondered if she regretted what they had done. Casey didn’t, so he hoped she didn’t, either. He lifted her hand, kissed it, and growled, “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

He shot her a look. “It won’t be like last time,” he said quietly, certain she worried about him leaving her. “Beckman’s promised that if you need me, she’ll see I get the message.”

“You told her?” He could tell that surprised her, though he could hear the faint edge of anger in her voice.

He kept his eyes on the road. “Not exactly,” Casey said as heat ran up his face, “but I made it plain that I would walk away if she ever kept anything about you from me again.”

“Nice bluff,” Riah’s toneless voice responded.

Casey looked over at her a minute. “It wasn’t a bluff, and she knows it.”

Riah looked like she’d cry, but Casey sincerely hoped she wouldn’t. He watched for places to pull over if she did. He knew from his sisters’ pregnancies that women sometimes burst into tears for no real reason when they were in Riah’s condition, but he’d never been especially comfortable with a woman’s tears regardless of the reason for them. He heard her unbuckle her seatbelt, and then she slid over the bench to sit right beside him. Riah stretched to kiss his cheek before she fished the middle belt out of the seat and buckled it across her lap. Then she laid her head against his shoulder. He pressed his mouth briefly against the top of her head. “I plan to be there, Riah, for all of it—your appointments with Lydia, the baby’s birth, all of it.”

Her cheek rubbed against his shoulder. Despite Riah’s faint smile, Casey suspected she didn’t believe him, but that was okay. He knew he might not be able to, but he’d do everything he could to see that what he’d just said was a promise and not a statement of intent.

At some point during the drive, Riah fell asleep. He let her sleep, figured she needed the rest. While she did so, Casey considered what life would be like from this point on and sincerely hoped he would be able to live up to his wife’s expectations.

As they unpacked in their bedroom, they agreed not to wear their rings in public. Casey had mixed emotions when he watched Riah replace her wedding band with her engagement ring. He turned his own band on his finger while she dropped hers in her jewelry box. He finally slid his off, looked at it in his palm and decided he wanted it with him. While she went to start dinner, he found the slim wallet with his NSA ID and badge and slipped it behind the ID card.

 

Less than a week later, all hell broke loose.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We switch to Mariah's point of view here.

Over the next several days, things began to snowball. Before it was all over, John was promoted to lieutenant colonel, Devon Woodcomb found out about John and Sarah Walker—and about Chuck—Chuck was no longer the Intersect, and John’s orders changed. He wasn’t going on a mission for Beckman. Instead, he would be rejoining his old unit and heading for Waziristan the morning of Ellie Bartowski’s wedding. The new orders changed many things, and Mariah’s life was thrown into chaos.

She and John, with the General’s permission, had decided Mariah would stay in place for a while longer. It would look suspicious for John, Mariah, and Walker to all leave at the same time, so Mariah would stay and preserve the illusion for a few weeks. Then she would tell Ellie and Emmett Milbarge, who was now manager at the Buy More, that John’s mobilization would be permanent, that he was tired of being called back to duty, that he had just decided to re-up, and that she was moving to base housing where he would be stationed.

Since Chuck was no longer the Intersect, Beckman was shuttering their part of the Intersect project. As a result, Mariah spent the day before Ellie’s wedding helping John pack. The NSA would pick up most of the equipment during the wedding, but Mariah would keep and monitor a few basic bits of surveillance to make sure no one who might have connected Chuck to the Intersect turned up. She and John both thought it only fair that after nearly two years of service, Chuck’s protection should be extended just a little longer. Mariah was given contact codes in the event that someone did come looking for the newly unprotected Chuck. She was just glad that Kavanaugh had been pulled from this detail when John came home and would not be one of those contacts.

Deep down, she suspected John had insisted on leaving her in place because he didn’t trust Beckman not to simply eliminate Chuck when he and Walker were gone.

Meanwhile, John and Chuck quit the Buy More.

They had attended Ellie and Devon’s rehearsal dinner, but Mariah had pleaded tiredness so she could beg off Ellie’s bachelorette party and spend John’s last night in their apartment in bed with him. For his part, John seemed intent on wearing her out. She wasn’t complaining, especially since he couldn’t tell her when he might see her again. In the early dawn, he pulled her close and once more reminded her how to find him if she needed him. He made promises he shouldn’t, promises she knew he might not be able to keep. A part of her liked that he felt the need to make them, but another part of her knew she’d be crushed if something happened to him.

For some time, they talked quietly as their hands ran restlessly over one another until they drifted off to sleep. Mariah mumbled, just this side of sleep, “Don’t get killed.”

As usual, John told her, “I’ll try not to.”

As she remembered the last time he had left her, recalled what happened in Gaza, she roused enough to add in a sleepy mumble, “If you do, I will find you and kill you again.”

“Try or die?” her husband asked with a sleepy rumble of his own, and Mariah smiled, more at the remembrance that he was her husband than at his question.

“Die.”

 

When her alarm went off, she was in bed alone. That was typical of John, who hated saying goodbye worse than anyone she knew. It was one of the reasons she had taken to telling him not to get killed. He tolerated that better.

She thought about catching a little more sleep, but she was afraid she wouldn’t wake back up in time to make Ellie and Devon’s late-morning wedding, so she got up and went downstairs. The equipment she and John had taken down and packed was stacked out of sight, a fact she was grateful for when she heard a frantic pounding on her door. Ellie rushed past her, panicked. She had, apparently, lost her something blue. Mariah, frankly, was surprised Honey Woodcomb didn’t have a backup for everything—not to mention backups for the backups.

As Ellie babbled, Mariah, loopy from lack of sleep, imagined the infinite number of possibilities backups for backups might create and briefly pondered storage and transportation for those items. Then, she got a grip and sat Ellie on the couch and soothed her as best she could. When Ellie finally calmed down, Mariah offered to loan her one of her pairs of sapphire earrings, but Ellie declined. She told Mariah she would just have to look harder, and as they talked, it became apparent that Ellie had just needed a few moments away from the madness of everyone and everything to gather herself. Mariah offered to go help her look.

“Have you eaten?” Mariah asked, not in a great hurry to go over to the craziness that was Wedding Day at the Bartowski/Woodcomb’s. Unlike the last time she’d been pregnant, she had had very little morning sickness with this pregnancy so far, and she was hungry. Mariah made eggs and toast, figured Ellie wouldn’t want much to eat since she was running on nerves. She made coffee for Ellie, though she considered hopping the other woman up on caffeine might not be a kindness—to Ellie or to anyone who actually had to deal with her in full wedding freak-out. When Chuck knocked on the door as they were about to eat, she invited him in and provided him with a plate of eggs and coffee.

They talked about the schedule for the day. Ellie told her she planned to wait and dress at the church. Ellie asked about John. Mariah told her he’d been called back to duty suddenly so wouldn’t be able to attend the wedding. Ellie complained for several moments about the lack of consideration on her government’s part, and then blew her bangs away from her forehead before she slumped and told Mariah, “I’m just being a bitch, I know, and an inconsiderate one given John’s had to leave.” Mariah was about to placate her when Ellie’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully and her head tipped. Mariah began marshaling excuses for all contingencies even before Ellie asked her if she would be willing to partner her father for the day.

Her first instinct was to say no. She knew who Stephen Bartowski really was, and she knew he was a very odd man prone to erratic behavior. On the other hand, he’d managed to get the Intersect out of Chuck’s head, and even though she knew that made Chuck vulnerable in ways he hadn’t previously been, it occurred to her that the older Bartowski might be able to do something similar for her—assuming she could get her father or the Canadian government to release more detailed records on what had been done to her as a child. Regardless, Mariah wouldn’t mind an opportunity to pick his brain a little, so she agreed to accompany Ellie’s father to the reception.

When Ellie finally headed home, Chuck lingered at the door. He buried his hands in his pants pockets and gave Mariah an earnest look. “I know Casey’s gone to Waziristan,” he said, “and I know you’re staying for the time being. I promised Casey I’d look after you for as long as you’re here, so if you need me, well, just call.”

Mariah nearly burst into tears. She flung her arms around him and clung to him, even though she could tell Chuck didn’t know how to respond to that from the way he stiffened before he put his arms around her and awkwardly patted her back, muttered something about his “man parts.” She finally let him go so he could follow his sister home.

The rest of the morning passed quickly. Mariah made her way to the church, arrived about half an hour before the wedding. She saw Chuck and lifted a hand in his direction. He met her, dragged her to Stephen Bartowski, and quickly introduced her to his father, whose mind was clearly elsewhere. Mariah took a seat on the bride’s side and settled in to wait. As the church began to fill, she talked to people she recognized, including Anna Wu and Morgan. When Jeff and Lester went to the front of the church and began to perform, she stared on in horror, wondered if she should try and stop it. After their pyrotechnics set the sprinklers off, Ellie declared the wedding cancelled. Mariah prepared to go home, but a bedraggled Sarah Walker wearing a destroyed bridesmaid dress caught her arm and whispered that she needed to go to the reception hall.

She was soaked by the time she got there, and then she stared open-mouthed at the utter destruction before her. She noted the military team restraining Roark’s men, and it only took a second to spot John in the middle of the carnage. She started to pick her way toward him, stepped over bits of the destroyed cake, the ice sculpture, and the broken furniture. He was grinning when she reached him, and he shoved his rifle at the dark haired man next to him before he scooped her against him and kissed her absolutely breathless.

“I didn’t expect to see you quite so soon, Colonel,” she said when he let her mouth go.

“Didn’t expect to be seen so soon,” he said and kissed her again. He broke the kiss when there was a polite cough next to them. She was quickly introduced to his second-in-command and the other members of his team. John endured their jokes for a few minutes before he waved them off and walked Mariah to the door.

When he stopped her just outside, Mariah tried not to stare. He was dressed entirely in black. She would never understand what it was about John and black clothing—and he was completely covered in black—that turned her on, but it did. It really, really did. As a result, she missed what he told her, tuned back in to hear him say, “I’ll have to stay with Roark until they collect him.” He gave her a funny look, one that slid to heated, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a knowing little grin. The last time she’d seen him clothed in what she teased was his signature color—that time a black suit and black shirt—she’d told him she really liked his undertaker assassin look even as she’d begun stripping it from him. “We’ll keep him at Castle. When he’s gone, I’ll be home for the night before we head out again tomorrow.”

She nodded at him, then rose on her toes, ran her hands up him and silently cursed the body armor that kept her from actually feeling his body before she kissed him again and left him in the chaos in which he seemed to thrive.

Home again, Mariah changed into comfortable clothes. She had almost asked John if she could join him at Castle, but she knew better than to ask. Even if she hadn’t begun her severance paperwork shortly after they married, she was persona non grata since they had been told they could marry. She should go check on Ellie, she supposed, but she was tired from her mostly sleepless night. Ellie needed her family with her, and Mariah didn’t want to intrude. She lay down to take a nap, figured she’d go commiserate with Ellie later, maybe offer to fix dinner.

She had trouble getting to sleep, though, so she rolled on her side and thought about John, thought about her mother’s ever-escalating wedding plans, and wondered if she could make them stop.

In hopes of getting more comfortable, Mariah changed position. The truth was, her mother had never done the big wedding thing, so Mariah was fairly certain that her need to scale things up for Mariah’s wedding was rooted in that. Ariel Taylor had never married Mariah’s father, and when she and Ben had married, they had done something not unlike what Mariah and John had done the week before—had simply gone to a judge’s chambers and exchanged vows. Having seen the destruction of Ellie’s wedding that morning, Mariah seriously considered the wisdom of publicly marrying John.

Admittedly, Mariah had always been a private person. Her mother claimed she was shy, and perhaps she was. She attracted trouble, certainly more lethal trouble than her mother did, and that made a big wedding risky. The kind of trouble John was capable of attracting was even more hazardous, she suspected, than what she drew. In addition, the more people they invited, the greater the risk that strangers attending with their guests might have something other than celebration in mind. Mariah shuddered, vividly recalled the devastation at the church that morning after a firefight between John’s men and Roark’s.

A moment of morbid amusement made her lips twitch into a smile. Maybe John’s “friends” should be barred from their wedding. She sobered when she realized it was more likely her unknown enemies who would cause problems— _if_ there were problems.

She stretched into a different position, closed her eyes, and considered how to argue her mother down from the two hundred guests Ariel thought “their” side should invite. Mariah figured fifty total was more than enough, and she thought the thirty or so that would encompass just family on both sides was probably better. In her book, though, three was best, just as it had been when she actually married John.

The very best, she thought, sleep finally sliding in, would be to simply announce they’d already married and just have a reception.

Of course, her mother would kill them.

 

Mariah’s phone woke her. She scrabbled for where she had left it on the bedside table. Squinting at it, she sat up, but before she could ask John what was wrong now, he asked, “How long does it take to make a wedding cake?”

Nonplussed, she blurted, “Depends on the cake. Why?”

She heard someone in the background ask what kind of bunting they wanted.

“Can you do it?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered cautiously, though she wondered why on earth he needed a wedding cake.

Once more she heard another male voice in the background, this time telling someone they would have to get a permit for the beach.

“How long?” John asked.

A sinking feeling started as she began running all the possibilities that could explain his questions. “It depends, John, on when you need it, on what kind of cake and how big. It depends on whether it’s covered in fondant, gum paste, or buttercream. It depends on whether or not you can get me access to a professional kitchen with industrial mixers and several ovens, not to mention the pans, ingredients, and other equipment needed.” She sat up, bent her legs so she sat indian-style in the middle of the bed. “What’s going on, John?”

His voice was muffled as John growled at someone that he wasn’t Martha Fucking Stewart. She bit her lip, silently swore she wouldn’t laugh, especially when she remembered hearing in a documentary the director John Waters talk about Martha Stewart as the ultimate control freak. “I’m trying to make Ellie’s wedding happen today,” he admitted. There was an embarrassed note in his voice. Mariah tried to imagine who had thought a special operations team would be the best go-to guys for giving Ellie the wedding of her dreams.

Then again, they had been partially responsible for Ellie’s planned wedding falling through.

“Call a bakery, someone who specializes in wedding cakes,” she told him. “Sometimes weddings are cancelled at the last minute, so there’s a cake available. Sometimes, they keep spare layers frozen in case something goes wrong and can do something on short notice.” He grunted, and she imagined him scrawling notes.

“If you can’t get an orphaned cake that’s already decorated, have them use real flowers,” she added. “Less work goes into the cake design that way, so it can be completed more quickly.” He grunted what sounded like thanks. Mariah thought of something else. “If they have to start from scratch, ask them about arranging the layers into different tiers—there’re some cake stands that do a sort of staircase thing, straight or spiral. That way if the baker doesn’t have enough prebaked layers of one flavor, there can be several different kinds of cake without worrying about the taste.”

“Anything else?” he asked, and she could tell he was already on to the next item, whatever it was, on his checklist.

“Other than if you successfully pull this off and I like the results, you are going to be in charge of planning our wedding in July,” she told him, actively imagining the mileage she could get out of the inevitable fireworks between John and her mother.

On second thought, Lydia had told her she didn’t need a lot of stress, so Mariah had no intention of getting stuck between the two most stubborn, immovable objects in her life.

“Like hell,” he ground out. It wasn’t hard to hear the horror in his lowered voice.

She heard another man ask John what color fuchsia was. Mariah held her breath to keep from laughing when he told the man to “look it the hell up.”

“Good luck,” she told him and added before she thought better of it, “Don’t let this particular mission kill you, John.”

“With any luck,” he bit out, “I’ll die before I find out what color fuchsia is,” and hung up.

 

After an hour or so, Mariah gave up on more sleep. She decided to go downstairs and see what she could find to eat. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, someone pounded on the door. When she reached it, she looked to see Chuck on her doorstep. “Ellie and Devon are getting married this evening,” he said quickly after she opened the door. “On the beach. Can you make it?” She asked which beach and when before she agreed to be there.

She looked at the clock after she sent Chuck on his way. She had a little over an hour before she needed to leave, so she went upstairs, showered again, and stood in the doorway of her closet while she tried to decide what to wear. She should have asked Chuck whether it was formal or casual, but it was too late. Mariah decided to split the difference and flipped through her dresses. She finally pulled out a pretty, lightweight, blue cashmere with long sleeves. Since the wedding was a sunset wedding, and for a moment she stood there and smiled like an idiot while she remembered marrying John the week before, she decided the sleeves would save her needing a wrap or jacket. She threaded a pair of sapphire earrings in her ears and stepped into a pair of shoes.

It was a lovely wedding. John and his men had done a good job, though she wondered how much of this they had been directly responsible for. She could tell Ellie was happy, and Mariah smiled, remembered how Ellie had told her more than once she had always thought she would get married on a beach rather than in a church. Mariah occasionally caught the tell-tale glints of hidden watchers, and she wondered if John was one of them, if Ted Roark had already been collected and taken to the facility where he would be incarcerated for the rest of his life.

As she watched Devon kiss Ellie, she wondered what story the government would tell to explain Roark’s sudden disappearance. After all, the man was one of the most famous businessmen in the world.

The reception was set up in the courtyard at the apartment complex. Since she knew few of the attendees, Mariah chatted a little to Stephen Bartowski, who was distracted, kept watching the archway to the courtyard as if he were expecting someone. She could hardly blame him, though, since she was doing much the same thing. She drank only club soda and ate a few canapés. Whoever had done the cake had done it well, she noted. She circulated a little, danced with Chuck, with Devon, with a couple of Devon’s brothers, and then, finally, tired and a little depressed that John still wasn’t home, she decided to call it a night. She found Ellie and Devon, congratulated them once more before she disappeared inside her apartment.

Mariah slipped into a silk nightgown and its matching robe. She thought about watching a little television, and though John had soundproofed the living room, she knew the light from the set would be visible. She didn’t want visitors, so she decided to read a while in bed, ignored the fact that the light from her bedside lamp would be visible from the courtyard below.

She didn’t read for very long before her eyes felt heavy. She struggled to stay awake, wished John would hurry, but in these relatively early days of her pregnancy, she tired easily. Finally, she gave up, set the book aside, and closed her eyes.

 

 

John’s voice roused her. When she surfaced, she felt a weight over her waist and warmth along her back. She settled back against her husband before she ran a hand along the forearm looped over her to link her fingers with his. She wondered how long he had been home and how much longer he had before he had to leave. His fingers tightened on hers, so she murmured his name.

He kissed her bare shoulder; then he kissed along her exposed skin to her neck, nibbled his way to just under her ear. She turned her head toward him. John released her hand, slid his own over her abdomen to her hip and rolled her over, took her mouth with his. Mariah slid her own hands over his chest, his shoulders, then wound her arms around his neck. When John lifted his head, he propped himself on his elbows and cradled her face in his hands. He kissed her again, softly. “You okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “Tired.”

He grunted and took her mouth again.

“What time did they take Roark?” she asked, starting to drift back to sleep since John didn’t seem interesting in doing much beyond kissing her.

John stiffened, and Mariah pulled herself more fully awake before she looked up at him in the dark. Something was wrong. She could tell from the taut way he held his body over hers. “They didn’t,” he bit out. Mariah could hear something beyond anger in his tone. She waited, knew he would tell her if he could. “Miles killed him,” he finally said, “killed the rest of the team, too.”

Mariah stared up at him, appalled. That had to be torturing him. She had recognized his loyalty to his men before, so for someone he trusted—they trusted—to do this, was the ultimate betrayal of all they stood for. She waited to see if he would say more. When he did, when he told her, it came out in fits and starts.

He started with what happened in Castle with Roark, how Miles killed the others but chose not to kill John—his mistake, Mariah thought heartlessly though gratefully—but then he told her how Chuck’s father flashed on the man who came for Bryce Larkin, about Larkin’s death, about Chuck reinstalling the Intersect, and about Chuck’s sudden martial arts exhibition.

“What happens now?” she asked, stunned by John’s story.

“Tomorrow I take Chuck to Prague,” he said. “Beckman’s decided that since he’s the new, improved Intersect, it’s time to train him to be a real CIA officer.” He snorted. Mariah looked up at him, heard the mix of concern and pride. “Kid’s over the moon at the idea of being a ‘real’ spy.”

“Tomorrow?” she asked weakly. Given that John had narrowly escaped being murdered, she wasn’t sure she wanted to let him out of her sight. She was, though, smart enough to keep that particular sentiment to herself.

John ran a hand down her body. “Tomorrow,” he confirmed, “but Beckman’s made yet another change. I’m not going back to my unit after all.” She relaxed a little before she remembered part of that unit was now dead. Mariah saw when John felt her relief. Hot color flooded her face, but she couldn’t make herself be sorry that he wasn’t going to Waziristan after all. “I’m not exactly staying here, either,” he warned. Then he told her what Miles had said about the Ring.

“So you’re going hunting,” she said.

He nodded. Then he bent and kissed her. Mariah recognized it as an attempt to distract her. She considered playing along, but she wanted answers. He didn’t give her a chance to say anything when he released her lips, just said with a soft urgency, “I want you to go visit your father while I’m away.” She started to protest, but he leaned in and cut her objection off with a swift kiss. “I don’t want you here alone again.”

There was a moment where she chafed at his apparent belief that she should simply do as he said. Then again, he had a point. They could all be targets depending on what this Ring was really after. “How long will you be gone?” she asked softly.

He shrugged. “I won’t be training Bartowski, so I suspect I’ll drop the package and then head back. I’m not sure where I’m going first when Chuck’s safely delivered. Beckman will tell me when I get back from Prague.”

Mariah got the impression there was something else, something he wasn’t really telling her. She ran a hand lightly over his chest, down over his shoulder and arm, around his back. “And then what?” she whispered.

His own hands weren’t idle. He stroked over the silk, ghosted a hand over her breast, trailed it along her side, her hip, up her back, sat up and removed her gown, and when he eased her back onto the mattress, he stroked up to cradle her cheek. She closed her eyes, nearly purred at the sensation. John waited until she gave him a lusty moan, was distracted by what his mouth was doing to her breast before he murmured, “Back here until Chuck finishes training and they assign him elsewhere. We’ll begin shutting down Castle, and I’ll work out of the Los Angeles office for a while, keep an eye on Ellie and Woodcomb until we’re sure they’re not targets.” He kissed her, long, slow and deep. “You and I get married again in July.”

Mariah sucked in a ragged breath when he closed his mouth back over her nipple. “Then what?”

He released her nipple and kissed his way lower. “We move to my house in Maryland.” His tongue ran around her belly button, and then he lifted his head and grinned at her. “You have a baby, and we live.”

John moved even lower, and Mariah quickly forgot what they were talking about, her mind far too occupied with the sensations he coaxed from her.

Later, though, as she stroked her hand on his chest and rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder, she considered carefully, realized things were unlikely to be as simple as he had put it. “John?”

“Hmm?” he asked.

“I don’t want to go to Ottawa.”

He stiffened a moment. “You’re going.” Before she could protest, he continued. “I don’t want to have to worry about whether or not you’re safe, Riah. Until I know more about what we’re dealing with, you need to be where you can be protected—and Beckman and your father both agree.”

Once more, she felt like she was five, which pissed her off. “I’ll be careful,” she tried, but he cut her off.

“I’m sure you will,” John said, “but you’re not taking chances. Use the time to start the resignation process, if you haven’t already. Your dad can schedule your exit interviews, and you can do whatever else ISI requires you to be present for.”

Mariah really hated that she couldn’t argue with that, so she didn’t.

 

She spent a week in Ottawa, escorted there by an ISI operative on her father’s plane. Her father met her and took her to his house, another decision made on her behalf that pissed Mariah off enough she had an ugly argument with him about it. In the end, she had given in, though she insisted the bodyguard he wanted her to have had to go.

When she dropped into ISI’s headquarters, she went straight to personnel and explained why she was there. She filled in the forms a clerk gave her. Her next stop was to her field supervisor in Covert Operations. She’d never really answered to the man since her father had controlled her assignment in Los Angeles, but, technically, Warren Robards was her boss. He sighed, pulled her file from the stack on his desk and told her that her father had already contacted him, so he scheduled her interview for the following afternoon.

She returned for that interview, was amused by the questions from the panel, some of which she sincerely doubted other operatives were asked when they left ISI. She signed affidavits, turned over her agency-issued weapons, and her ID. Her ID was handed right back to her. Mariah was told to keep it as a memento.

That raised her suspicions. Operatives were not allowed to keep their credentials—at least they weren’t allowed to keep ones that didn’t mark them as retired or inactive—but she supposed that until her resignation made its way through all the levels of ISI’s bureaucracy, she was still an employee. She imagined she’d have to return it when the final approvals were made.

 

Mariah was not allowed to return to Los Angeles until John came to get her. Even though she was happy to see him, it irritated her to be picked up like a toddler from day care, but she said nothing. She settled into their apartment again and waited. John came and went where Beckman sent him while Mariah tried not to resent that, especially since she had continued to work at the hell that was the Buy More under Emmett Milbarge’s increasingly oppressive, fascist rule. It wasn’t long before Chuck was back from Prague, having washed out of the CIA, and then he and John eventually returned to the Buy More, too.

Emmett Milbarge, though, was gone. John finally admitted the man hadn’t jumped ship for Large Mart and Alaska but had been murdered.

Mariah couldn’t help but wonder if John had been the one to kill him.

It did, though, amuse her that John was the de facto manager while corporate tried to decide what to do.

On one of her days off, she received a call from her father not long after John left for work. He asked her to find John, told her he needed to talk to him about a rogue operative who was rumored to be in Los Angeles. When Mariah pressed, he reluctantly admitted the rogue was looking for her.

She nearly joked that she was surprised she wasn’t surrounded by ISI operatives on a protective detail, but she didn’t want to give her father any ideas. It was surprisingly hard to find John that morning, but apparently Chuck was flashing like a warning light. She finally caught up with her husband just as he was returning to the Buy More. John heard her out, kissed her, told her to go home, stay there, open the door to no one, and headed back to the store.

Mariah got in her car to head home, but as she put the key in the ignition, her mobile rang. She fished the phone out of her purse to answer it. As she did so, she looked up and saw John in front of the Buy More talking to some woman. The woman stood far closer to John than Mariah thought necessary.

“Mariah?” her father asked, obviously not for the first time, and she realized she had completely zoned out after answering the call.

She kept her eyes glued on the couple standing on the sidewalk outside the store while she said, “Sorry, Dad. I was distracted.”

“Did you talk to Casey?” he asked.

That woman, that tall, slim brunette with the expensive clothes and long, long legs leaned into John; Mariah ground her teeth. Her father repeated the question; she answered in the affirmative.

“Mariah?”

She had a moment of petty triumph when John removed that woman’s hand from his chest, but it was relatively short-lived. The woman turned slightly, and Mariah got a good look at her face. She’d never seen the woman, not even a photograph, but she had had a pretty good description provided to her, a good enough description that she was fairly certain who the woman mauling John was. “Dad, does ISI have a file on Ilsa Trinchina?”

After a lengthy pause, her father asked, “Mariah, am I going to have to shoot Casey after all?”

From Mariah’s vantage point, if that woman didn’t get her hands off John, her father wouldn’t get the chance—she’d do it herself. She just had to decide whether she killed him before or after she killed that woman. Maybe she’d just cut that woman’s hands off, teach her that she really should have kept them to herself rather than run them over a man who wasn’t hers. “No, Dad, but I think I’d like to know a bit more about Ilsa.”

“Any particular reason?”

She heard the studied nonchalance in her father’s voice. How did she answer that question without convincing him to come and carry through on his threat to John? _Because I’m staring at her? Because she keeps putting her hands on my husband?_ The last was right out since they had agreed to tell no one they had already married. That also ruled out _Because my husband is kissing her, and I think he’s still in love with her_. If she said that, her father really would shoot him, and Mariah, like an idiot, loved John, so she would prefer he remained among the living.

Her mood turned dark. She stared at John and the woman she was certain was Ilsa Trinchina a moment, then she looked away. “Sorry, Dad, I’m just a little distracted right now.”

“I can tell,” he said with the heavy sarcasm she had rarely had directed her way. “That’s the second time you’ve said you were distracted. Care to tell me what’s distracting you and why you want Ilsa Trinchina’s file?”

She breathed in, once, twice, then closed her eyes and did it once more. “Because she’s kissing John.”

That shut her father up. She opened her eyes again, watched John say something to the other woman, noted he looked angry. Mariah wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or not. “Mariah, you knew Casey had been involved with her.”

“He was in love with her,” she corrected. “Now she’s turned up. I think I’d like to know more about her.”

Her father sighed. “You mean you’d like to know more about them. We have a file, Mariah, but we don’t generally let operatives troll through files for personal reasons. You know that.”

The couple she watched appeared to be having an intense conversation of some sort. Normally, an intense conversation with John was an angry conversation—or, if it was an interrogation, a scary conversation—but this was something different, and Mariah didn’t like it at all. “I’m no longer an operative,” she said in an absent kind of voice as she focused on trying to see if she might be able to lip read at least part of the discussion across the parking lot.

“All the more reason not to let you read the file, Mariah.” Her father sounded as distracted as she was. She wondered what or who might be distracting him. “Although,” he continued, “that is partly what I called you about.”

She frowned. “Reading ISI files?”

He gave a huff of a laugh. “Not being an operative.” She heard him murmur something to whomever was in the office with him. She looked over once more to where John nodded at whatever Ilsa was telling him. “Mariah, I got your resignation letter and change of status paperwork this morning. It’s worked its way through the process to me.”

She felt her shoulders sag and bit her lip. That had been part of the deal she and John had made with General Beckman and her father. In order to marry John, or, from Beckman’s viewpoint, for John to be able to marry her, Mariah had to resign from ISI. She had delayed doing so. ISI—meaning her father—had asked that Mariah not be asked to compromise her agency, but Beckman had later asked her if she would like to go to work for the NSA informally, despite the part of the agreement that said she couldn’t work for another intelligence agency for at least five years. Mariah knew how difficult a security clearance would be, so she had respectfully declined. She had not let on how pissed off she had been that Beckman was willing to ignore the conditions ISI had put on their agreement.

Now, watching as her husband bent and kissed his former lover’s cheek, Mariah finally wondered why she had been the one to make nearly all the sacrifices thus far. Sadly, she thought the correct status for the couple she observed might be lovers rather than former lovers as the two parted. John stared after Ilsa before going back inside the Buy More. "You know what the deal was, Dad. You were there.”

He grunted an agreement, and it reminded her of John, which wasn’t a reminder she wanted at the moment. “I’ve been thinking that maybe we could accept your resignation on paper and let you go to sleeper.”

She sighed. “Dad, I’m marrying a spy. I sort of think he might notice if I were to suddenly take up any clandestine behavior.”

“Mariah, I know Casey. You’ll continue doing what you do—it’ll just be for the Americans’ benefit.”

“Remind me why you called again, Dad,” she gritted out.

He returned to the primary purpose of the call, asked if she’d talked to Casey about the rogue operative ISI hunted. She told him she had and explained that John planned to be in touch with him soon. They talked a bit further about the woman who had been identified as a Fulcrum mole. Mariah knew her, so she fully understood the amount of damage the woman could do and probably already had done to ISI and to Canada. Before he ended the call, her father added, almost as an afterthought, “I told you once before you could trust Casey, Mariah. I still believe that.”

She didn’t say anything, added only, “I love you, Dad.”

The drive home seemed to take longer than it usually did. In part, that was because she was caught up in her jumbled thoughts, and when she was distracted, she tended to drive more slowly. In part, it was because she had nothing waiting for her when she got there. Her change of status meant she had very little to do.

 

Mariah spent a lonely afternoon in front of the television and wished she had Nerd Herd duty that day instead. She rarely did the couch potato thing, but she really didn’t want to think, so she tried to lose herself in classic movies. It didn’t help, though. She wondered in disgust if they had really made that many romantic movies in Hollywood’s Golden Age. Late in the day, her BlackBerry buzzed. She had a message from her father telling her to check her e-mail. If it hadn’t been in code, she wouldn’t have thought much of it, would have been in no hurry to look at it. Curious, she went upstairs to use her laptop. When she saw the encrypted message, she opened it. He had sent her Ilsa Trinchina’s file.

As she read the dossier, it occurred to her that her father might have been wiser not to send it to her. Among the information on the French spy was a brief report about the other woman’s suspected involvement with Beauty One. From the dates, it was clear that if the report were true, then Ilsa had once been involved with Mariah’s father. She closed her eyes a moment and sighed. Sometimes, not knowing was better than knowing some of the things she learned. Her husband and her father. Great. Mariah read further, read about Ilsa’s supposed death, read about her reappearance as Victor Federov’s fiancée, and read about the night she had spent with John before she escorted Federov to the lockdown facility her agency had chosen. John had told Mariah when she first came to Los Angeles he had spent that night with Ilsa. At the time, she hadn’t cared. Now, she tried hard to put it in perspective by remembering that it had been before the two of them had met, let alone become involved with one another for real. She could hardly hold against him what had happened before he knew her.

Fairness might dictate that, but her emotions still resented the hell out of it.

What she had seen that afternoon, on the other hand, was very different. For one, it had been right in front of her and anyone else who happened to look. For another, John was Mariah’s husband, but he seemed to have conveniently forgotten that while he locked lips with the other woman.

Then she noted a very recent addition to Ilsa’s file. An intelligence report added earlier in the day noted that Ilsa—interestingly, her real name was not in ISI’s file—had been assigned to a case that touched on one of the NSA’s though it failed to note what that case was. Mariah knew she was in no position to object or to insist John not be the agent who worked with her. She suspected the French woman’s appearance in Los Angeles meant someone had already tagged John to work with her on the case.

Sometimes, she really hated their line of work.

Later in the afternoon, John called to tell her he would be late. Normally, that meant Team Bartowski had a mission, but she saw Chuck come home with Sarah Walker. Neither of them left again. She started to get up and fix dinner, but she wasn’t hungry. Instead she curled up in a corner of the sofa and stared at one of the Thin Man movies. Meanwhile, she tried not to think about John with that Frenchwoman, about John kissing that woman, about what John might now be doing with the woman he had loved—might still love. When those thoughts intruded, she fought back tears. Each time she clamped her mouth shut to stop the sobs, she considered how the idea that he might be with Ilsa affected her. Maybe it was her pregnancy. Last time she had cried over the slightest and stupidest things. Perhaps it was simply hormones that made her want to cry every time she thought about how much he had reputedly loved the other woman.

 

When midnight came, she finally dragged herself up to bed and wondered if he would even come home that night.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re an Ilsa fan, you’re about to be really pissed off. I don’t really have anything against the character, but I made her a bitch because I could and because it served my purpose.

It had been an unusually busy workday for Casey. Not the Buy More part, though that was busy enough. Instead, the actual NSA part of his job had more activity than he had become accustomed to on Mission Moron. It started with an encoded message from General Beckman he opened while Riah made breakfast and culminated with a text from V. H. Adderly followed by a visit from Riah on her father’s behalf at midmorning. In between, Chuck Bartowski had had two separate flashes—one on an install and one when he returned to the store. All of this and the usual Buy More weirdness before eleven a.m.

The flashes were easily dealt with, but he was still struggling with how to reconcile Beckman’s request—order, actually—with his obligation to the Intersect. It also didn’t help that he was now going to have to make some more thorough explanations to Riah about a part of his past he didn’t relish explaining if he were going to comply with his orders and keep his wife happy.

Then, there was ISI’s request. Adderly needed him to keep an eye out for a rogue operative, and Riah gave him what was probably a highly expurgated version of why this particular rogue needed to be found and apprehended. To make matters worse, Riah’s pale face worried him. She had rare days where she was dogged with morning sickness, and while she didn’t complain about it—she almost never did—he hated that there was nothing he could do to stop it. At least she didn’t have to work the cover job that day. Riah was still adamant about not telling anyone she was pregnant yet, but it was getting harder and harder for her to hide the evidence.

She walked him back to the Buy More. “I’ll be home as soon as the shift’s over,” Casey told her as he slid his arms around her.

Riah nodded and reached up to kiss him. He made her promise she would go straight home before kissing her again and sending her on her way.

“She’s quite pretty.”

He spun, having recognized the voice and the accented English. “Ilsa.”

The French spy looked good, but then she always did. Casey studied her a moment, wondered what to say.

She smiled sadly at him. “I heard you were getting married.”

He nodded. There was no reason to tell her he’d already married Riah.

“I assume that was your fiancée,” she said, clutching the strap of her bag, “or do you make a habit of kissing all the pretty girls?”

There was a time when that sultry pout of hers would have had him steering her to the nearest private space and indulging in considerably more than kissing, but Casey found that while he still thought of Ilsa as an attractive woman, he didn’t feel the heated flare of desire for her he had before. “She’s the only one.”

Ilsa’s smiled died. “She’s very lucky.”

From Casey’s perspective, he was the lucky one, so he had no intention of doing anything that might screw that up. He took his vows seriously. Even if Ilsa stripped and offered herself, he would refuse, but, he acknowledged, it would be a very difficult thing to do. After all, he was well aware of the pleasure she could provide.

She stepped forward and stroked a hand down his chest. As he had done with that woman in the English pub the night he had finally admitted what he felt for Riah, Casey caught her wrist and removed her hand. When he released her hand, Ilsa, whispered, “Casey,” as she leaned into him.

He could smell her, the subtle scent of Chanel and woman. He knew every inch of her, knew when her eyes widened and her smile turned knowing that she thought she had him. “Ilsa,” he growled, “I love her.”

She moved a fraction closer so that he felt her breasts brush his chest. “Love her, then, Casey, but that doesn’t mean we have to be strangers.” She breathed in, tilted her head up to him. “After all, we knew each other long before she came into your life, and you love me, too.”

This close, the temptation was much stronger. He knew what she was trying to say, that they could pick up where they left off. Casey wanted to sneer at her as he had done the last time he’d seen her, quip, “How French,” but with her this close to him, touching him, he began to remember their past, the feel and taste of her. He stepped back. “Ilsa, what we had ended.”

“It didn’t—doesn’t—have to Casey.”

That sultry voice and that accent of hers did things to him. “It does.”

Their world played by different rules. An agent might have a wife and family, but he might romance someone else as part of the job. It was wrong to kill, but an agent might be asked to put a bullet in someone’s skull anyway, sometimes on mere suspicion. Casey wouldn’t betray his wife. It was that simple. He had a duty, and it was a vital, important duty, but he would be as faithful to Riah as he had been to his country. What he did meant nothing otherwise.

But Ilsa—well, Ilsa was . . . Ilsa. He had loved her, truly loved her, and when he thought her dead, he had mourned her. When he learned she was still alive, he had been coldly, furiously angry, but that had given way to hope, hope that they might be able to rekindle their relationship, a hope that bore no little debt to Bartowski. Casey had had a night with her at the end of that particular mission, but he had let her walk away, hoped but didn’t really expect he would see her again.

Then Riah came to live with him, and things changed.

He couldn’t say he had forgotten Ilsa, because he hadn’t, but the other woman had been slowly eclipsed in his affections by the young Canadian he had married a few weeks before. Now that Ilsa stood before him, though, he wondered if that was really true, wondered if he didn’t still love Ilsa and had only settled for Riah—who genuinely loved him back, who would be with him as long as possible.

Both women might be spies, but Ilsa had always disappeared only to reappear at unpredictable times. Riah had been beside him since their cover relationship morphed into something deeper. Riah was also leaving ISI, setting aside her own career because it was the only way Beckman and his government would let Casey marry her. Ilsa would never agree to such a condition no matter how much she claimed to love him.

That begged a question for Casey. “Who told you I was getting married?”

She gave him a sad little smile. “Does it matter?”

It probably didn’t, he acknowledged, but he was curious. “Indulge me.”

Her eyes held his. “If you must know, it’s the source of considerable gossip in several agencies, not least because your little fiancée is V. H. Adderly’s daughter.”

Something about that _little fiancée_ set Casey’s teeth on edge. It made Riah sound like a doll or a little girl.

“I remember Adderly,” she continued. “He was a handsome man when he was young.”

Casey felt a stab of jealousy, but he tamped it down. When he looked in her eyes, he knew that statement had been calculated to elicit that exact response from him.

Ilsa smiled at him. “Enough about us, though, Casey. I assume your General Beckman contacted you?”

“Yeah.” Casey shot a look at his watch. “Not here, though. I have to get back to the cover job. I go to lunch at one. Meet me back here then.”

Ilsa raised her face and kissed him. She’d barely had to rise up, he thought, unlike Riah, who was nearly a foot shorter than he. Ilsa was one of those female spies with a model’s height and beauty, too. “I’ll see you then, Casey,” she purred.

“Outside, Ilsa,” he warned. “Inside, Riah has friends.”

She gave him her sexy pout, kissed him again, and walked away. Casey had seen a light in her eyes that made him decide to leave early enough to keep her out of the Buy More. Ilsa might be recognized from her previous visit—certainly Bartowski would recognize her—and Riah did, indeed, have friends in the store. Casey knew Grimes would make sure she knew Ilsa was back, and Casey wanted to make sure that when Riah found out, he was the one who told her.

When his lunch break came, Casey strode out of the Buy More and nearly walked right into Ilsa, which told him she had intended to ignore his request to meet him outside. He said nothing, though, simply turned her around and walked her to his car. He had no intention of taking her to a restaurant in the plaza where any of the freaks from the store might see them. When they were seated at their table, he eyed her. “Well?”

“Tell me about your fiancée,” she said, as she opened her menu.

He sighed. Why was it the women in his life always refused to do things the easy way? “I’m not here to talk about Riah,” he reminded her. “Beckman says you need a hand.”

She smiled and leaned toward him. “I need a man, Casey. You fit the bill.”

When he simply stared at her, she finally sighed and began detailing the mission. One of their nuclear scientists had disappeared. He came to work one day, Ilsa explained, and sent his assistant home, claimed he intended to spend the day doing paperwork. The next day his office had been emptied, and he was nowhere to be found. Rumor had it he intended to sell his work to the Iranians—he was himself of Persian descent—and Ilsa was to find him before he could do so. The French had taken the man he was supposed to meet off a flight in Paris. She needed Casey to play that doctor while she posed as his wife. Apparently, the French scientist was spooked, and he thought having the Iranian doctor bring his wife to dinner provided a guarantee he was not being set up.

The waiter interrupted with their drinks. On the one hand, this was more the kind of assignment Casey thrived on, as opposed to the babysitting he did more often than not with Mission Moron. There was just something about this that seemed a little too . . . convenient.

“That doesn’t explain why you need me,” Casey said when the waiter was gone again. He knew what Ilsa wasn’t telling him and might not actually know herself. The NSA wanted the man found, caught, and in their hands, not because he was a nuclear physicist who could jump start Iran’s nuclear weapons program but because he had been one of Stephen Bartowski’s college roommates and knew of the elder Bartowski’s ideas for the Intersect. That was one of the reasons Beckman had sent the assignment his way. That, and to make sure Ilsa didn’t whisk the man out of the States before the NSA could take custody of him.

Ilsa put her elbow on the table and put her chin in her hand. “You speak Farsi, Casey. We don’t have an operative in the States who does. Your General Beckman told my boss that you were the only operative they had here who could.” She went on to explain that her scientist had never met or spoken to the man he was supposed to meet. Casey would play the part, and since the doctor always took his wife with him when he travelled, Ilsa would go along.

He couldn’t say he liked it. He couldn’t say he even believed it, but she sold it well. Casey would, however, double check everything with Beckman before he bit. “I don’t exactly look like a Persian,” he said gruffly.

She tilted her head and eyed him. “You won’t need to,” she mused. “The doctor’s a product of a mixed marriage; his mother was American—a blonde, blue-eyed American. He was raised in Iran and works for the government there. My scientist has never met him, and there are no known photographs of him.”

Ilsa continued talking, filled Casey in on what else they knew about Dr. Farman. When she finished and had answered the questions he had, she folded her hands and leaned toward him. Casey could tell she was about to move the conversation onto more personal ground. He wondered where she would start: their past or his wife. “Tell me, Casey, about your little Riah.”

That _little_ set his teeth on edge once more. It made Riah sound like she was six. He also didn’t like hearing the name only he used for his wife on his former lover’s lips, lips that curved invitingly at him and distracted him, which only made him more annoyed. After all, they were lips he knew, knew well, knew the lower one responded to a bit of a bite, knew what they tasted like against his own. He gritted his teeth at how she had distracted him from his wife. “She’s not a child, Ilsa,” he growled.

She lifted her brows. “I never said she was.”

Damn it, she hadn’t—but she had certainly implied it. He would not discuss Riah with her. He would not give Ilsa information that could either be used against his wife or to manipulate him. “Tell me about the meet and what needs to happen.”

Ilsa gave him another of those knowing looks, and he could see something beyond a bit of amusement underneath, something a little darker. Casey started to have a bad feeling about this, about all of this, and about what he might have to explain to his wife—his very angry, very well-trained, and very well-armed wife.

He knew Riah well enough to know that she would not be amenable to sharing him, even if she hadn’t explicitly told him that. He knew her well enough to know that if he strayed, she’d shoot him, probably with his own gun. If she didn’t, her father most certainly would—V. H. had made crystal-clear what he would do if Casey did anything that made his daughter unhappy or that hurt her—and Casey rather liked being alive and in one piece. That they had only been married a matter of weeks would only make a betrayal that much worse. Then, there was the fact that Riah was a little more than three months pregnant.

Ilsa eventually gave up as Casey continued to refuse to talk about Riah. She told him she would need him about six so they could prepare for their dinner meet. She reached in her oversized bag and pulled out a file. Casey lifted a corner and saw it was a dossier on the doctor he was to impersonate. He nodded, and she gave him the name of her hotel and her room number. Casey nearly countered with a request for a different location, but he realized he had a problem. The only two secure locations available were Castle, where he was not allowed to take her, and his apartment, where Riah was probably riding out a day of morning sickness. He nodded agreement.

All afternoon he sought a feasible alternative but couldn’t find one. Even some other hotel room still involved being alone with Ilsa in a room with a bed. He caught Bartowski alone and slapped the doctor’s dossier in front of him with a grunt to flash. Right on cue, Bartowski spilled information, the doctor’s connection to the Iranian government and their version of the secret police getting prominent play in the data dump. On break, Casey went to Castle to read the dossier again and contact Beckman to verify what Chuck spilled.

He also called Adderly, belatedly remembering he had promised Riah he would but had not yet done so. V. H. was not amused. After he reiterated why it was important to find this woman and quickly, Adderly conceded that finding ISI rogues wasn’t part of Casey’s job, but since the rogue had apparent ties to Gray Laurance and probably Fulcrum, he’d appreciate it if Casey could keep an eye out for her. He also told Casey he was worried that Laurance might have told the woman about Riah and the Montreal Project. That, Casey knew, put his wife at risk. As they wound up the conversation, V. H. sat back and said, “There’s one more thing, Casey.”

From the other man’s tone, Casey knew this would not be pleasant. “We’ve been friends a long time,” Adderly began, but then he stopped, appeared to search for the right words. “I can’t say I especially thrilled when Mariah fell in love with you, but you make her happy, so I can live with it. I just hope you don’t do something stupid, so I don’t have to come shoot you.”

Baffled, even though Adderly’s words echoed his earlier thoughts, Casey stared mutely at the image of the other man. Then he realized V. H. must know he was going to work with Ilsa. He wondered how the other man had come by that particular bit of information. “I have no intention of doing anything stupid.”

“You know what they say about good intentions, don’t you?”

_The road to hell_ , Casey thought. “I promise not to do anything that would make you have to come shoot me.”

“See that you don’t,” V. H. said, “because it’s been a long time since I actually had to shoot someone—not to mention the inconvenience and all the things that would go into getting on a plane, flying to Los Angeles, shooting you, comforting my daughter, planning and attending your funeral, pretending to be sorry you’re dead—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Casey snarled. “I get the picture.”

Adderly eyed him seriously. “I hope so.”

 

After their shift at the Buy More, Bartowski asked if he could bum a ride home. Casey gave him an uncomfortable look before admitting, “I have another job.”

Chuck, of course, got that excited look he got so often now and asked, “Mission?”

Before he could ask to go, although for a split second Casey considered it since the Intersect in Bartowski’s head could be useful on this assignment, he told the kid, “Not one you can be invited to.”

“Sarah?” Chuck asked.

“Can take you home,” Casey said. “This is one of Beckman’s special jobs.”

Casey had had several “special jobs,” missions where he worked outside the Intersect assignment without Walker and without Bartowski. Usually, they involved a round-trip plane ticket under an assumed name. Beckman generally made sure he wasn’t gone more than two days, three tops, so that it simply appeared he’d had a few days off work at the Buy More. This one, though, was local, and Casey began to wonder how he was going to manage it and his Intersect responsibilities, not to mention his responsibilities to Riah, if it dragged out beyond that evening.

When they had found out Riah was pregnant, after he’d overcome his doubts, Casey had been pleased. He had moments of doubt—he was too old for fatherhood; it was hard enough to do his job with a lover, now wife, without a child in the mix—but he had to admit he was still happy about it. He had promised Riah, though she hadn’t asked him to, that he would be with her this time, that he would go to all her doctor’s appointments, that he wouldn’t let Beckman send him anywhere he couldn’t get back to her if she needed him. She had smiled at him when he made those vows, but he could tell she didn’t believe him. Riah had clearly been pleased by the thought, but she knew as well as Casey did that he might not be able to keep those promises.

He wanted to keep them, and he was determined to do so. He couldn’t blame Riah for her doubts. When she lost the baby, she had been alone, and she was terrified she would lose this baby as well. Her aunt had tried to reassure her that this pregnancy, in all probability, would be perfectly normal. Casey knew part of her worry was because of his job and what could happen to him as he did that job.

Hers was no longer an issue. Riah had to resign her position with ISI, though she had delayed putting the paperwork through. They were supposed to get married in July, were still planning a wedding for the Fourth, but when they married a few weeks ago in a quiet ceremony with a confidential license, she had finally completed the necessary forms and her exit interviews. She was, as far as he knew, no longer employed by ISI.

As he walked to Castle’s back entrance, Casey wondered if Ilsa would have given up her job for him. He suspected she wouldn’t have, suspected she would have been insulted if she had been asked, and even if she had agreed, he had a feeling she would have given lip service to doing so and would have remained in French employ.

Once inside, he called Riah. She sounded tired. When he asked, she said she was fine, but there was an edge to her voice. “I’ll be home late,” Casey told her. “I’ve got an assignment.” He felt he ought to clarify that for her, but he didn’t want to worry her or to have an argument before he had to go on what was already going to be a difficult operation. He knew she would assume it was an Intersect mission, yet he didn’t tell her it wasn’t a Bartowski special.

“Don’t get killed,” she said, and he smiled. Riah always said that these days.

“I’ll try not to,” he told her as he always did.

He skimmed through the dossier one more time, skimmed through the information on the man he would impersonate and through the material on the man he was to meet. When he knew what he needed to know, he went to the locker where he kept spare clothes. He ignored the gear and the extra set of Buy More clothes and selected the black Armani suit, black shirt and black tie. Riah referred to the dark monochrome clothing as his undertaker assassin look. That thought nearly had him choosing something else as he remembered what generally happened when he wore it. For some reason, it seriously turned Riah on. He then realized that not only was there was no time, but his other shirt still had bloodstains on the chest.

Casey made sure his SIG was loaded and put it in the holster under his left arm. He put a Smith & Wesson in the ankle holster on his right leg and another in the holster clipped to his belt in the small of his back. He considered a knife, but he far preferred a gun. He debated including one of the tranq guns, but he figured if he were to have trouble, it would be a shoot-to-kill sort of situation rather than a neutralize scenario.

Finally, he turned to his badge and NSA ID. He picked up the wallet that held them both and fished behind his ID. He had put the wedding ring Riah had given him there so that he had it with him but no one was likely to see it. He slid it on his ring finger.

When he arrived at Ilsa’s room and knocked on the door, Casey hoped like hell they were leaving immediately. He wasn’t that lucky, though. She opened the door wearing nothing but a towel. He was immediately irritated that he was right on time, but she wasn’t ready. As he followed her in, saw that she was merely holding the towel closed in the middle of her back so that most of her back and her ass were exposed, he felt his body respond to all that skin. It infuriated Casey that he had so little control, but he also acknowledged that given their history, he shouldn’t have been that surprised.

It was obvious Ilsa knew what seeing even that much of her had done to him. He gritted his teeth and thought about his wife, thought about how she responded to him, but then he realized that was not the sort of thing to think about in his current circumstance. Casey mentally ran through the inventory list for Castle and considered the requisitions he would need to forward to Beckman given that they had been busy of late and had decimated the ammunition stores in the armory.

Ilsa looked at him oddly. He realized she had spoken to him. When she had his attention, she repeated (Casey assumed) her assertion that she would dress and then they could go. What he hadn’t expected—though probably should have—was that she would simply drop the towel and begin dressing there in front of him. He swallowed thickly as she picked up the first stocking. He watched, wondered if he could just meet her downstairs in the bar. She had stayed in shape, and while she, like he, was aging, she still looked amazing. Casey mentally kicked himself for noticing that and then thought he could hardly have missed it given that she was standing there stark naked and slowly sliding a stocking on. Idly, he did notice that Riah, despite the height difference, had better legs.

A slight smile tugged his lips. Ilsa gave him a heavy-lidded look when she saw it. It dawned on him that she thought that had been about her. It had, but not favorably so.

Ilsa put on a good show, but Casey had himself under control. He sat and watched dispassionately as she dressed, finished her makeup, and then stepped into her shoes. It occurred to him that if she was supposed to be Muslim, and he assumed she was, she was inappropriately dressed. He waited until she finished and walked toward him before asking, “Shouldn’t you have a chador?”

She smiled at him. “I have a manteau and a hijab. I’ll put them on before we leave.”

He nodded. She sat on the arm of his chair and leaned into him. “Casey, I have a ring for you,” she said and reached for his left hand. He let her pick it up. She frowned. “What’s this?”

“My wedding ring.” She ran a finger over it. He liked his ring, liked the thick, plain gold band. Riah had its mate until July, but he still needed to find something that would go with her diamond and platinum engagement ring.

“You know it’s supposed to be bad luck to wear your ring before the wedding,” she told him.

No reason to tell her it wasn’t before the wedding, he thought. She stroked his hand with her fingers. He grew uncomfortable. He’d worn the ring to mark Riah’s territory when he could easily have supplied something from the stock they kept at Castle for disguise purposes. It was probably meaningless to Ilsa, who didn’t know the other woman was actually his wife, but it held great meaning for him. It was the visible symbol of the promises he’d made Riah—not that he needed the reminder.

Ilsa leaned toward him, but Casey leaned away, arresting the kiss he suspected she intended. Something of his mistrust must have shown because she said, “You’ll have to do better than that to convince Dr. Sherazi we’re married and in love.”

“I’ll play my part.”

She got up, donned the veil that left her face exposed, shrugged on the ugly, long, black, shapeless coat, and buttoned it closed over her dress.

By the time they arrived at the restaurant, Ilsa had finished briefing him. Casey really didn’t like this, especially since his Farsi was a little rusty. There hadn’t been much call for it lately. He was, then, relieved to find the man they were to meet chose to speak French.

As dinners went, this one was pretty dull. Casey was grilled by the scientist over dinner. Ilsa, wisely, said little. Toward the end of dinner, though, Casey caught sight of a familiar woman walking across the restaurant.

_Hell, hell, hell,_ he thought, which only brought to mind what V. H. had said to him earlier. Adderly’s rogue threaded through the tables, but Casey had no easy way to excuse himself to make the call. To make matters worse, the rogue operative’s companion knew him. He slid his phone out of his pocket and hoped he could blindly text Walker who could notify ISI.

Over coffee, the scientist made his move. Sherazi began the subtle negotiations, and Casey tried to focus on them. He was also trying to keep an eye on ISI’s rogue. As a result, Casey nearly made a misstep, and Ilsa had to step in and cover for him. Oddly, it worked to Casey’s advantage. The scientist smiled and made a comment about absentminded professors and the women who generally kept them organized.

Within half an hour, they had agreed to meet again. They settled the bill, and Casey found himself in the back of a taxi with Ilsa. “You were not fully there, Casey,” she chided.

Ilsa didn’t need to know he had more than one game running, so he said nothing. At the hotel, they both got out. Casey intended to head to his car and go home to his wife until he saw the scientist exit a nearby taxi. They made noises about coincidences, and then they walked in together. To make matters worse, the man’s room was on the same floor as Ilsa’s, so Casey reconciled himself to more time in Ilsa’s room.

Riah was going to kill him.

After they closed the door, Casey stripped his tie from his collar and shoved it in one of his jacket pockets. He dropped into the chair where he’d previously waited and told Ilsa, “When he’s had time to get to sleep, I’m leaving.”

She smiled at him as she began removing her clothes. “You could just stay here.”

“Actually,” he growled, “I can’t.” He had the Buy More the next day, so he would have to get home to change. There was also his wife and what she might say if he spent the night in his former lover’s hotel room.

Ilsa came to stand before him. “It’s not like your little fiancée could object to you simply sharing four walls with me while we are on assignment.”

There was that _little_ again, and he ground his teeth in irritation. “She could,” Casey told her flatly. He imagined she also would and should. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Ilsa, we live together, share a bed. If I don’t go home, she’ll worry.”

A catty little look crossed her features. “So she doesn’t trust you.”

He glared at her. “That’s just it—she does trust me, and I’ve earned that trust and mean to keep it.” Casey had a feeling he would have to tell Ilsa, would have to explain how he had already married Riah, but he didn’t want to do that. A secret could be kept if only one person knew, and, in this case, two knew and had vested interests in keeping it that way. To tell Ilsa opened up the possibility that others would learn of their marriage.

When his phone vibrated, Casey felt relieved. If it was Riah, he would explain what was happening, all of it, regardless of orders. Instead, it was V. H., which, in Casey’s book was worse. His father-in-law told him they had missed the rogue, but he appreciated the confirmation she had made her way to Los Angeles. Ilsa stripped across the room, and Casey found the conversation a good way to avoid complications caused by her naked body. His answers were noncommittal, and V. H. finally said, “Don’t tell me you’re still working whatever Ilsa got you into.” Casey didn’t answer, though he noted the other man had just confirmed his earlier suspicions. V. H. heaved a melodramatic sigh. “I’m going to have to shoot you. I just know it.”

“No, you won’t.”

“That’s still monosyllables, but at least it qualified as a sentence,” V. H. cracked. “Let me guess. She booked into the same hotel as the target.” Casey gave him a grunt of agreement; the other man sighed. “She did that to me once. Let me further guess. She’s removing every stitch she has on very, very slowly in full view of you.” Casey frowned. That was exactly what she was doing. He made another affirmative sound. “Her next move is to dither over what revealing night garment to wear.” Damned if he hadn’t called it. “Then, when she’s selected one, she’ll find other things to do before she puts it on.” Casey began to wonder if V. H. had a camera in Ilsa’s room.

“Dressed yet?” Adderly asked after a lengthy pause; a thread of amusement ran underneath the man’s words. Casey once more grunted agreement. “She arranged herself on the bed yet wearing that pout that says ‘join me’ and ‘you’re neglecting me’ at the same time?” He confirmed it. “Screw your target, Casey, she’ll make the full frontal assault in a minute. Get out before I have to book a flight to L.A., shoot you, comfort my daughter, and bury you.”

There were several thoughts belatedly catching up to Casey. One was that in order for V. H. to so accurately describe Ilsa’s moves, he had to have experienced them. It wouldn’t be the first time he had found out that he had shared a woman with another agent. Adderly always had a taste for all things French, which had made Ariel Taylor that much more inexplicable.

Casey suddenly wondered how much of Ilsa’s Sugar Bear routine had been real.

“No need,” he said. “I think it’s finished.”

When he hung up, Ilsa crawled off the bed and sashayed toward him. Casey generally didn’t use words like _sashay_ , but it seemed like the best choice to describe how she moved. It was a decidedly practiced walk, and she knew what she was doing with it. For once, it left him completely cold. Ilsa slid into Casey’s lap. “Now that your call is finished,” she whispered in his ear, her tongue darting out to lick it, “we could start something to pass the time, Sugar Bear.”

She might have succeeded had she not used that name, and it irritated him to admit that. “Ilsa,” Casey growled, but before he could tell her to get off him, her mouth took his. His emotions might have gone elsewhere, but she could still pull his body in line. His hands stopped pushing at her and pulled her closer; his mouth opened under hers. For several moments, he felt instead of thought, so when she slid around, straddled him and began tugging at his shirt, he began bunching the diaphanous gown up around her hips. When he felt the smooth skin of her ass, he had a flash of that first night he actually touched Riah, remembered the early hours of the morning on her stepfather’s porch, remembered what had come later in her bedroom. Casey removed his hands from Ilsa and jerked hers off him.

There was a triumphant look on her face that disgusted him. Ilsa clearly thought she would get what she wanted. Casey’s disgust deepened when he realized she might well have if he hadn’t come to his senses. He used his strength to push her off his lap. “Ilsa, let’s get this straight: I’ll do my job, but that’s it. We are not sleeping together.” He could see the comment coming, so Casey cut her off. “We’re not having sex. I love my wife.”

The oh-shit moment hit him upside the head then. “Wife?” she asked incredulously.

He could prevaricate, could tell her he already thought of Riah that way since the wedding was not much over a month away. She would probably believe him. Casey wanted to be completely honest, though, since he thought that was what it would take to keep Ilsa from causing trouble. “Riah and I got married a few weeks ago.” He held his left hand up. “This is my wedding ring, and I take what it means very seriously. You and I are finished in every way except professionally.”

“Did she hold out until you married her?” she asked snidely.

“No,” he admitted. “We’ve been lovers for over a year.”

Ilsa eyed him. “I heard a rumor, something about your little fiancée and a baby.”

Casey was certain she was fishing. No one outside the family had known except for Bartowski and the General, and Bartowski had kept the secret. He doubted General Beckman had shared the details with anyone, either. He picked his words carefully. “I didn’t marry her because I had to. I married her because I love her. She’s the one, Ilsa.”

“I heard the two of you were apart much of last year,” she tried. “How can you know the baby was yours?”

If he hadn’t already been sure he was over her, Casey was then. He also remembered that there had been one outsider who had known, Kavanaugh, and he wondered if there was a connection between Ilsa and the other agent. “I’m certain, Ilsa, because I know there was no one else. My wife loves me, just as I love her. She’s never given me a single reason to distrust her. Don’t make the mistake of thinking she’s as amoral as her father. She isn’t.”

“I thought I was the one,” Ilsa replied. The sad, wistful sound she made was almost convincing.

“There was a time I thought that, too,” Casey conceded. “I was wrong.”

Ilsa narrowed her eyes, changed tactics. “I understood you two were supposed to get married in some big ceremony in July.”

He nodded. A lot of their friends were in the trade, so it wasn’t surprising that word had gotten around.

“So why did you marry her earlier?”

Casey wasn’t going to answer that. He looked at his watch, heard her pissed off huff of disbelief that he could so easily take his attention from her. It was well after midnight. He could leave through the air duct, he supposed, drop down in an empty room or a storage room. If the scientist heard him leave through the door, he could always claim he was going for a walk. He was tired, had a long day ahead of him that would begin with Riah’s doctor’s appointment early in the morning. He knew Riah wouldn’t sleep until he joined her.

Standing, he moved Ilsa out of his way. “I’m going home,” he announced on his way to the door. “If something happens, call me. Otherwise, I’ll be here in time for lunch.”

 

When Casey got home, he let himself in the apartment and reset the alarm. He didn’t bother with any lights as he made his way to the stairs and trudged up them. Riah was in bed. He moved around the room quietly, shed and hung up the suit before he stuffed the rest of the clothes he’d worn in the hamper and pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms before he went to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Finished, he returned to their bedroom and slid into bed behind his wife. Riah wasn’t asleep, he knew from the rhythm of her breathing. Normally when Casey came to bed after a mission, she rolled over and asked how things had gone. She didn’t this time, so he slid a hand over her hip and waist. He was surprised when Riah jerked away from him and moved closer to the far edge of the bed.

“Riah?” She lay there stiffly. Casey could feel the anger radiate from her. He couldn’t imagine why she would be angry at him. Well, he could, but he was pretty sure she didn’t know about that. He supposed someone could have seen him with Ilsa and told Riah. V. H. was the most logical choice for the source, but he didn’t think her father was capable of hurting her like that. He sighed and moved closer to her again, but this time he didn’t touch her. He was too tired to play games, and he needed to make this right with her. “I know you’re awake,” he said softly.

His wife remained stubbornly silent. He laid his hand on her waist and immediately felt her tense. When she didn’t move and didn’t say anything, he leaned over to press a kiss to the bare curve of her shoulder. It was possible, he supposed, that Riah had seen something when she left him at the Buy More that morning, so he hoped that’s where the hostility came from. “You saw me with Ilsa.” She went even more rigid. Casey would have bet money that wasn’t possible, only he felt her do so, and then he felt a slight tremor run through her body. He recognized it for what it was: his wife was dead furious, and he was going to have to defuse her before she detonated.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a good time for the reminder about being an adult before you read. There’s also some violence, and I should also point out a few readers see this as non-consensual.

“Riah,” Casey said softly. This time he moved her hair to press his mouth on her neck just below her ear. Usually, she melted when he did that, but she stiffened once more. “Honey—“

He had apparently miscalculated, though. “Don’t _honey_ me,” she ground out.

His jaw clenched. She let Paul Patterson call her a pretty little girl, but if Casey tried anything other than the shortened version of her name, she usually smacked him down verbally. In this case, he suspected it was less about the word he’d chosen than it was about what she had seen. He supposed he was lucky she didn’t know what had happened in Ilsa’s hotel room. He sincerely hoped her father hadn’t been stupid enough to call and blab. Casey sighed and lifted his head. “Riah, it wasn’t what you think.”

“And what, exactly, do I think?”

Casey tried to find a way to tell her other than to just baldly blurt it out, especially since there were parts of it he wasn’t exactly proud of but was going to have to tell her anyway. He couldn’t afford to risk losing Riah if Ilsa decided to make trouble, so he had to fully disclose. That meant he had to choose his words carefully, and he wasn’t always good at that.

Her voice was a little softer when she spoke again, though the sharp edges were still there. “John, you love her.”

That surprised him. Casey thought he had made it plain to Riah that he loved her, not Ilsa, not anyone else. She was the one he married, and he had done so voluntarily with no gun held—literally or figuratively—to his head. He had been willing to end his career for her and had almost ruined it twice for her. Ilsa, on the other hand, he had kissed goodbye and let walk out of his life with no real expectation he would ever see her again, had put her firmly out of mind once she had passed through the archway leading out of the apartment complex’s courtyard. Casey had been unwilling to let Riah do the same, unwilling to have to push her behind a locked door in his head, and he thought she understood that.

Casey moved slightly, rolled her onto her back so he could hold her in place with his body while he reached over and turned her lamp on. She blinked in the sudden light, and he leaned down so that she could see his face clearly. He was pissed off, especially since she apparently doubted him. He tried to temper his voice when he told her, “I love _you_ , Riah. That’s why I married you. Ilsa’s the past.”

“From what I saw,” she ground out, “not exactly the past.”

His temper teetered on the edge of control at that point as he wondered briefly if she had been spying on him. Then he remembered that she had, essentially, admitted she’d seen him with Ilsa that morning. Casey realized what she had probably seen—Ilsa touching him and their kiss. It didn’t make him any less angry, though, because Riah obviously didn’t trust that he had held true to the promises he had made her. “If you’d stayed—“

“I saw the whole thing, John,” she snapped, “from the moment she walked up to you until you went inside the Buy More. My question is what I missed when you were on your ‘mission.’”

There was a surprising amount of vitriol in his wife’s voice. Casey realized that she hadn’t been half this angry when he turned up after she thought he had abandoned her. He was not a complete idiot, nor was she, and, if anything, he learned from his mistakes. Riah was not a mistake, of that he was absolutely certain, but he was damned if he was going to put up with this kind of behavior every time he had to work with an attractive woman or even simply a woman with whom he’d been intimate. He had rarely mixed business and pleasure on the job, had, in fact, only seriously done so twice: Ilsa and the woman beneath him. He cocked his head, narrowed his eyes. Okay, three times, since he technically had to include Kathleen McHugh. That didn’t stop him from saying in a low, dangerous tone, “You of all people, Riah, should know that I do my job, _not_ my partner.”

“Would you care to rephrase that, Colonel?” Her voice lashed that out as she bucked beneath him, tried to dislodge him.

Casey put his entire weight on her to hold her still. His temper ticked up again, this time at himself. He should have thought that through a little more before he let it come out of his mouth. He could argue Riah hadn’t been his partner, but he had most certainly done her—very thoroughly, too. “You know what I meant,” he growled back and eased his weight off her. He tried to find a way to regain the high ground. “You also know you’re being unreasonable. I can’t tell you what the assignment is, and because I can’t tell you, you’re not going to believe a word I say.”

“How convenient that it didn’t involve Chuck or Walker,” she snarled. “No witnesses. Add to that your Ilsa has a job that connects to the NSA, and, hey, you get your _fucking_ girlfriend back without having _your wife_ in the mix!” Her voice rose toward the end, and so did the venom.

Casey was tempted to say something unforgiveable in return, the words were right there on the verge of slipping out, but a sane part of his brain kicked in. He loved Riah, was miserable without her, and he wasn’t about to ruin the one truly good thing that had happened to him. He dropped his weight on her again when she tensed once more, certain she intended to try to roll out from under him and storm off. He had sense enough to know that if they didn’t resolve this now, it would only get harder for them to find their way back. His tone was dangerous when he echoed her earlier question: “Would you care to rephrase that, Mrs. Casey?”

Riah opened her mouth to retort, but Casey’s brain had caught up with his ears. She had said he was working on a mission with Ilsa. He had said nothing about that, Chuck couldn’t have told her since he didn’t know, and she and Walker were hardly the best of friends, so Riah hadn’t heard it from his partner. That raised huge red flags. “How did you know Ilsa has a mission that involves the NSA?” he asked silkily. She had resigned from ISI. In theory, that meant she no longer had intelligence contacts. The Canadians had shut off her access as soon as she submitted the paperwork, tightened after she did her exit interviews. Word had gone out on the American side as well. It was the equivalent of a burn notice without the nastiness usually involved. Riah was playing a dangerous game, and so was her father, if her resignation was a sham.

“I was on the phone with Dad when you decided to make out with your girlfriend—mistress,” she bit out viciously.

That explained how V. H. had known Casey had seen Ilsa and why he had made the threat to kill him. “You told your father Ilsa was here?” he demanded.

She narrowed her eyes; her jaw tightened. An angry flush stained her skin, and Casey had a sinking feeling. Riah usually got that look when she was about to spill blood. “You should have told me you and Dad like to share women, John,” she bit out. “It came as quite a surprise. How many others, and how many of them will turn up on my doorstep?”

He had already worked out that her father and Ilsa had apparently had a thing, but Casey was stunned her father had told her that. It did, however, confirm his suspicions, but it also made him wonder again if Riah had lied about her resignation, still worked for ISI, something that would ruin Casey and would mean someone like him would have to quietly make sure she was permanently stopped. He felt the blood drain from his face. He couldn’t bear losing her, not now, and he certainly couldn’t face returning to the life he had had before her or to the man he’d been when she first came to live with him. “Riah, you’re playing a very dangerous game if you’re still working for ISI.”

She went incandescently ballistic then. “I _fucking_ quit for you!” Riah shouted at him as she struggled beneath him, tried to get him off her. “I’m just the goddamn messenger these days! From now on, talk to Dad, not me!”

“You’re right,” he growled, pissed off despite his relief that he was apparently wrong. He was pretty sure now that her information had come from her father, and that meant there was a breach somewhere else because the NSA wouldn’t have shared that with V. H. “I should talk to your father.” He watched Riah’s face pale as his words sank in. She went still, but Casey suspected that was because he’d used the dispassionate tone he normally reserved for delivering unpleasant ultimatums. Dealing with V. H. was a separate matter from this, though, and Casey needed some sleep before the night was over.

He decided it was time to let her know he didn’t care for her attitude or her accusations. “As for you, I should put you over my knee and do what neither of your parents apparently ever did.” His face hardened. Casey was sorely tempted to do precisely what he threatened. “Listen carefully, Riah, because I will only explain this to you once. I love you. You, not Ilsa. I made my vows in good faith, and I will honor them. I meant them. What you saw was Ilsa kissing me.” Casey gave her a hard stare to emphasize his words before he admitted in a more moderate tone, “Having said that, I was with Ilsa tonight.”

She moved so fast it didn’t occur to him what she intended until her hand connected with his face, hard. Riah had slapped him once before, and Casey had warned her then to never do it again. It had been an empty threat, though. He would never intentionally hurt her, but he was even more tempted than before to put her over his knee. “Do that again,” he ground out tightly, “and you’ll regret it.”

Casey glared at her. As a precaution he took her hands and slapped them against the mattress on either side of her head, kept them pinned there. Riah struggled against his grip, and for a moment he nearly released her when he remembered how anxious she got when she felt cornered or trapped. That didn’t seem to be what drove her, though. She was more pissed off than Casey had ever seen her, and the side effect of that was that she didn’t regress into fear. Because he didn’t want her to think about the fact that he had her immobilized, he simply gave her a hard, warning look. “I was with Ilsa professionally, Riah.”

She gritted her teeth and strained against him. He caught an angry gleam in her eyes, and Casey had a feeling Riah connected his unfortunate choice of the word _professionally_ with a slur on Ilsa’s character. He was glad she didn’t make the obvious remark because he was pretty sure he would be enough of an idiot to defend Ilsa, which would only put more fuel on the fire. Besides, he wasn’t at all sure he could honestly defend Ilsa at that point, especially not after what she had tried to do to him that night.

When Riah remained quiet then stilled beneath him, he felt tiredness wash over him. Casey decided to do something he had never done before. He didn’t think he had much choice since Riah could not only put him through seven kinds of hell, she could wreak havoc with his assignment. He sighed and broke an oath to his employers. “Since you obviously know I’ve been assigned to work with her, you might as well know the rest. I have to pretend to be her husband. As a result, I was at dinner with her and her target.” Casey kept his eyes on hers, and retaining a tight hold on her right hand, he lifted it and put his left hand in front of her face so she could see the ring she had put on his finger when she promised to love and honor him. “Your ring, Riah,” he told her. “Call it marking your territory. I told Ilsa this was a job and nothing more, that I love you, and that I won’t betray you.” When he saw the anger lighten a bit, he lowered her hand back to the mattress and continued his explanation. “The French lost a nuclear scientist.”

“How do you lose a scientist?” Riah sneered, and he gave her a look that told her not to interrupt him again.

“The scientist turned up here in L.A. He’s supposedly here to sell his stuff to the Iranians. Ilsa tracked him here.” Riah made a face. Even Casey recognized his story sounded weak. “I speak Farsi, Riah. Ilsa doesn’t, and the NSA doesn’t have another operative who could get here in time for tonight. As a result, I’m assigned to her mission.”

“How convenient,” she spat.

“Riah,” he warned.

“Seriously, John,” she continued tightly. “I understand that Farsi is a rare skill, but you still haven’t told me how this particular mission intersects with the NSA’s interests. CIA, yes, but NSA, no.”

Sometimes Casey really wished she wasn’t as smart as she was. Riah was right. If that was all there was to it, this was a CIA job, and Walker or someone else would be on it. As was always the case with his assignment to Bartowski, that wasn’t the part they were most concerned about. “The scientist in question was a college friend of Stephen Bartowski’s. He knows about Bartowski Senior’s early ideas on the Intersect.”

Riah froze, stared at him, and Casey could see that she understood exactly why he had been given the job. Maybe there were benefits to having an intelligent wife after all. Her anger wasn’t completely gone, though, so he remained wary. “Are you finished with your part of this?”

Casey hesitated to admit he wasn’t, in part because he didn’t want to ignite her anger again just when she seemed to finally be calming down. He knew he would have to tell her, but before he could do so, her eyes narrowed again. “You’re seeing her again, aren’t you?” Casey wanted desperately to deny it. Riah must have read something in his face, though. “Get _off_ me,” she ground out. She struggled against him, but Casey simply crushed her into the mattress. When she realized she wasn’t going to budge him and her movable parts weren’t going to connect to any of his vulnerable ones, Riah stilled, turned her head away from him.

She was close to tears, Casey knew. He could see it before she turned her face from him, could hear it in the way her breathing hitched and her voice weakened, wobbled a little when Riah told him again, “Get off me.”

He said quickly, “I have to have lunch with them tomorrow. Maybe dinner.”

The anger flooded back into her face. Casey realized she thought he had forgotten her appointment and his promise to her. “I can tell what you’re thinking, Riah,” he said, careful to sound conciliatory.

“Really? Turned into a mind reader, have you?” she snapped. “Then read this.” Riah sank her teeth into the muscle a few inches above his left nipple. She had never shown violent tendencies, so her sudden, vicious bite shocked Casey. Her only previous attempts at hurting him had been to slap him twice in all the months he’d known her.

Those sharp teeth of hers were going to draw blood soon, so Casey released her hand and pried her mouth off him with his thumb. It hurt like a sonofabitch. He wondered if she had done it deliberately so Ilsa would see the bite if he let the other woman get him naked. In her fury, Riah swung for his face again, but he caught her hand mid-swing, noted her fist instead of the open hand.

“I warned you.”

Riah flinched and braced for a blow, which only made his temper flare further. Casey struggled to contain the rush of red-hot anger as it dawned on him that she clearly expected him to hit her. He would never hit her. Even as he took her mouth viciously, he wondered who had—because someone had for that kind of automatic reaction. He punished her lips until she sank her teeth into his lower lip. Once more, Casey used his thumb to break her bite. Instead of releasing her mouth, he sucked her own lower lip between his teeth and bit back, though he didn’t bear down as hard as she had done on his. He stared into stormy blue eyes, held her lip hostage, and ran the tip of his tongue over it. Something shifted in her when he did so; he felt it in the way her body pressed up into his. He stroked along her trapped lip again and felt her shudder beneath him. Riah might be furious, but she was turned on, which shocked him most of all.

Though she had been physically abused, never sexually and never by him, Riah wasn’t fighting him—at least not at that moment. When she moved restlessly against him as he licked her trapped lip again, he thrust his hips against her and felt her grind up against him. Casey didn’t think he should take her in anger, but he wanted her desperately, wanted to strip her then pound into her. He wasn’t very proud of the fact that he wanted to burn off his pent up anger by fucking her until she couldn’t move.

When he released her mouth, Casey could see a similar hunger to his underneath her anger. He yanked the spaghetti strap of the camisole she wore to expose her breast and didn’t care when it tore. He latched on to her nipple, used his teeth as he worked it. Riah pulled his hair until he let go before she crushed her mouth on his, demanded he open it and let her in. He ignored the pain in the lip she’d bitten and conceded territory. Riah shoved at him even as her mouth clung hungrily to his. He realized he was crushing her, so he rolled over. She followed him, fought her way out of the covers. They were both breathing harshly when she moved on top of him. Riah bit his earlobe, growled in his ear, and the combination of pain and sound did something to him he would never have predicted. Casey didn’t think he’d ever been this hard or this hungry for a woman. He ripped the camisole off her and rolled her once more onto her back.

It was probably the strangest foreplay Casey had ever experienced. This wasn’t seduction; this was a battle for dominance. He was tempted to let her win because he was pretty sure letting her win would have amazing benefits for him, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t made that way. He got the feeling Riah was trying to simultaneously punish and reward him, and that bit of schizophrenia drove him to similar behavior. He was careful not to actually hurt her. Despite the biting, she seemed to be taking the same care. Unable to take much more, he groaned and thrust inside her. Riah cried out, clawed at his back, but she raised her hips to meet each of his thrusts.

He started to slow the pace, but Riah clamped her legs to his hips and rolled him over and rode him roughly. Just as he was about to come, she stopped abruptly. His eyes snapped open when she sat back with him fully within her, breathing hard. Casey stared up at her a moment before he sat up as well. He took her mouth again. Riah’s arms wound around him, and she moaned against his mouth when he pushed up into her again. She ground down onto him, tightened her muscles around him, and Casey moved to roll her onto her back again.

Only he hadn’t been paying attention to where they were, and they rolled over the side of the bed.

As they fell, Casey turned them so he hit the floor first and Riah landed on him, sending the breath whooshing out of him. His head also smacked against the wooden floor, but other than a sharp pain, he didn’t think it had done any damage. Riah lay against him, and started laughing. It began with a rolling giggle, but when he frowned at her, it escalated to a laugh. He was about to take offense. Then he saw the humor in their situation. After a moment, Casey joined her.

“That’s going to hurt in the morning,” Riah said after the laughter died.

He was going to have a headache, he suspected, and his shoulder ached as well. “It hurts already,” he assured her. She was plastered against him, had made no move to get away or off of him. Casey ran a hand down her side and over her hip before asking, “Are you still mad?”

She studied him carefully. Casey returned her gaze, waited for her to decide. Riah sighed, ran a hand up to his cheek, and leaned in to softly kiss him. He sincerely hoped that was her way of saying she was over her anger. When she didn’t answer, he told her something he probably didn’t say enough, “I love you, Riah,” and ran his hand over her cheek to thread his fingers through her loose hair.

“I know, John.” She leaned down and kissed him again. He hissed a bit when she pushed too firmly against the lip she had bitten earlier, so she softened her kiss. Riah began to press kisses against the parts of him she could reach instead while Casey ran urgent hands over her. She took him inside her again, and afterward, after they both came apart, she moved so she lay beside him, one of her legs and one of her arms across him.

He rolled his head toward her and watched her shadowed face. Then, he told her something else he probably didn’t say as often as he should. “I’m sorry.”

Riah raised her head and smiled at him. He was glad to see that smile, certain it meant she was no longer angry and intended to forgive him. “So am I,” she said.

Casey moved, intending to roll toward her and pull her close, but pain shot through him and he grimaced. “Think we can get off the floor now?”

She smiled again and sat up. He rolled to his feet, but when he reached down to help her up, he saw her horrified face. Casey wasn’t sure what the problem was, but then he remembered the wounds she had inflicted on his back with her fingernails. They probably looked a lot worse than they were. “It’s just scratches, Riah,” he assured her.

“I did that,” she said softly, and she looked away from his face. She saw the bite mark on his shoulder. He followed her gaze. Her teeth were clearly marked, and the area was growing dark as the bruise came up. “And that.” As she met his eyes, Riah looked miserable. “John, I’m so sorry.”

He slid an arm around her and pulled her to him. Casey dropped his voice, offered her a smile. “You could kiss them better—especially the ones on my ass.”

Her eyes went wide. Casey nearly laughed at her horrified expression. Then he watched them narrow once more and realized he had just told her to kiss his ass. His girl was smarter than he was, he realized, when Riah leaned over and looked at his backside. She stood on tiptoe and pulled his mouth down to her and lightly pressed her lips to the one she had bitten. Casey shifted his hands to her hips as she put her mouth on the bite on his shoulder next, pressed her lips gently to the mark. She stepped away from him then, and he grunted, “I don’t think you’re quite finished yet.” Riah gave him a sultry smile and crawled onto the bed before she crooked a finger at him and reached for his hand.

Casey let her tug him onto the bed then followed her down when she lay back. She took his mouth in a gentle kiss and then slid out from beneath him. He stayed where he was, face down on the bed. When she said nothing and made no move to touch him, he turned his head to look at her. She sat back on her heels where she knelt beside him. He looked at her, looked at her naked breasts and the slight mound of her abdomen where their child grew. He had a brief moment of panic that they might have harmed the baby, but then he remembered Lydia’s laughing lecture on sex during pregnancy. Casey had asked questions that had made Riah go crimson but amused the hell out of her aunt, especially when he got specific. He was not about to apologize for the fact that he found his wife as alluring pregnant as he had when he first made love to her—which reminded him that they could be doing something other than what they were. “Well?” he grunted.

Riah gave him a slight smile. “I think I need to get something to clean your wounds.”

They weren’t that bad, he knew. He’d felt no blood, so she had probably only scraped the outer layers of skin away. “I thought you were going to kiss them better,” Casey reminded her.

He liked the way Riah raised her brows and gave him a sort of smirk. “I thought you wanted me to kiss your ass.”

Casey sincerely hoped there was going to be kissing, but he didn’t much care where or of what. He wanted his wife, wanted to feel her against him, wanted to be inside her again—preferably without the close personal combat. He told her gruffly, “Kiss anything you like.”

Riah’s mouth opened on his skin, and Casey felt her tongue burn along the scratches on his buttock. The hot, moist lines she traced made him go hard. When she finished, she moved, straddled his legs and did the same with the scratches on his back. She started at his lower back and worked her way up to his shoulders. Casey’s mind went blank, all thought crowded out by the sensation of her tongue lightly gliding over the marks she’d put on him and the slide of her hardened nipples over him as she moved up his body. Then Riah started on the next stripe, repeated the same movement. He fought the instinct to roll her off him and push inside her once more.

He held out until she had finished with all eight scratches before she moved her mouth up over his shoulder. He turned his face to her. When her mouth touched his, he pulled her over him and rolled so that they faced one another before he began kissing her closed eyes, her nose, her mouth. He moved down her neck to her breasts, and he lingered there, this time gently kissing her, licking rather than biting her nipples before drawing on them. Riah moaned and moved restlessly against him. When he knew she was ready, he rolled her onto her back and slid inside her.

Afterward, when he pulled her against his side, she laid her head on his shoulder. Her hand slid up over his abdomen to his chest where she rested it over his heart. He smiled at the ceiling. Riah generally only did that when she was happy, so he relaxed, fairly sure they would be alright now. She slid her leg over his, and Casey rolled toward her to settle his hand over her waist then stroked onto her abdomen. “I haven’t forgotten your appointment,” he said sleepily. “I told Big Mike we’ll be late to work.”

“Mmm.” Casey could tell she was on the edge of sleep. “What reason did you give?”

“Wedding plans.” Riah nodded. He decided this was as good a time as any to take up a subject about which he had given a lot of thought lately. “Riah, I know you don’t want to tell anyone until we’re sure you won’t miscarry again, but we’ll have to tell people soon.”

She ran her foot along his leg. “Not yet.”

Casey wondered if she ever looked in a mirror. Riah’s breasts were bigger, a fact made obvious by how tight her bras had become, so much so that she was beginning to push over the tops of the cups, not to mention the strain on the buttons of her blouses over her breasts and her stomach. He stroked his hand over the growing bump there. That bump was likely only really noticeable to him, but it had to be obvious to others her clothes were tighter. “You’re starting to show.”

That seemed to wake Riah up. She lifted her head and gave him a worried look. “I am?”

Casey wasn’t sure what bothered her so much. He loved the way she looked, loved the way the changes in her body felt. He thought she was beautiful like this, but he suspected it wasn’t her appearance that bothered her. He figured it was her irrational fear of telling anyone they were having a baby. He knew that was mainly due to the fact that last time she had miscarried shortly after she confessing her pregnancy to others. In fact, he suspected she might refuse to let anyone know until she was in the delivery room. He could understand her fear, but Casey really wanted to tell people. Given he didn’t like to discuss his feelings with others, let alone his personal life, that still surprised him. He kissed her. “Not much, but you are.”

She put her head back on his chest. “John?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you have told me?”

Since Casey was suddenly very tired, it took him a second to realize she meant about Ilsa, not about her pregnancy becoming visibly obvious. Then he thought maybe he was reading too much into her question, so he asked, “Told you what?” He rolled more fully toward her and pulled her a little closer. When Riah didn’t answer, he asked, “About Ilsa?” He felt her nod against his shoulder. He really didn’t want to begin the argument all over again, but he didn’t intend to lie to her. Casey had promised he would never lie to her, and so far he had been able to keep that promise. So he breathed in and told her, “After it was all over.”

He rolled Riah gently onto her back, remembered he had something else important to do, and slid down and kissed her abdomen as he had done every night he was with her since they had found out she was pregnant again. He told their child goodnight. He kissed his way up her body, claimed her mouth, and then settled beside her, drew her back to him. “Riah, I will never deliberately lie to you. I would have waited until Ilsa was gone to tell you to avoid what just happened.”

Her hand slid over his waist to his hip. “Do you love her?”

Casey caught her hand, raised it, and kissed her palm. “I love you, Riah.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

That was true, Casey acknowledged, so he gave Riah’s question some serious thought. He honestly didn’t know what he felt for Ilsa now. Would he be sorry if she died? Yes. Would he help her if she really needed him? Yes. If, God forbid, he lost Riah, would he turn to Ilsa? After that evening, Casey was pretty sure the answer to that was no. The truth, he realized, was more complicated than he thought he could explain to Riah so that she wouldn’t misunderstand, but he knew one thing for sure—the strength of the emotion he felt for his wife was far stronger than what he felt for the Frenchwoman.

“I still care about her,” he said carefully, “but what I feel for her isn’t what I feel for you.” He went on and filled in the gaps of what he hadn’t told her the one other time they had talked about Ilsa. He told her all of it, and then he held her a moment, considered the rest. He gathered his courage and told her about what had happened in Ilsa’s hotel room earlier that night, including the fact he’d responded to Ilsa’s kisses.

As he told her, Riah’s body stiffened again, and Casey tensed as well. He should probably have let it go, especially since she seemed to have gotten the worst of her anger out earlier. For a brief moment, he wondered if their earlier fight was about to start all over again.

Casey didn’t relax until she changed the subject. “So I’m showing?”

That made him laugh, and he was pretty certain that was what Riah meant to do when she said it. He ran a hand up and cupped her full breast, took a second to savor the feel of her. “I’ve spent a lot of time studying your body, Riah. Trust me, it’s obvious to me.” He marveled that no one else had noticed or had even commented that she might be gaining weight. He supposed it just went to show how unobservant the Buy Morons really were. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’ve started noticing that parts of you are growing larger.”

She tilted her head back where it lay against his shoulder so she could see his face. Casey read hesitance on hers. “Do you want to tell people?”

“Riah, I want to tell the whole world,” he confessed before he kissed her. He watched her think. She had tried hard not to get too attached to the idea of being pregnant. Lydia had told him several times Riah was so afraid of losing another child she couldn’t let herself get excited about the baby. Her aunt had told him it wasn’t so much that Riah didn’t want a child but more that she couldn’t face another miscarriage. Riah had told him herself about the depression afterward, and he had questioned Ariel and Emma both. What they had told him scared him almost as much as seeing her bleeding on the ISI training ground had. If Chuck hadn’t raised the alarm, the possible consequences didn’t bear thinking about.

Riah finally said, “We’ll tell people, then, but we have to tell our mothers first.”

That, he knew, went without saying. “I’m not suicidal,” he said gruffly, and she smiled at him.


	25. Chapter 25

When the alarm went off the next morning, Casey considered shooting it. Instead, he fumbled the alarm off. When Riah made to crawl immediately out of bed, he hooked an arm around her waist and dragged her back against him. “We alright?” he asked.

Riah looked exhausted when she rolled over and met his eyes, which was hardly surprising since by his calculation, they had only managed maybe two and a half hours’ sleep. “We’re alright,” she agreed. Casey felt the relief flood through him as he kissed her.

He watched her dress for work, grinned when he saw she couldn’t close the button on her skirt. Casey saw her try to suck in her stomach and fasten it, but he was smart enough not to tell her he told her so. Riah gave him a dark look, one that said this was his fault, before she rummaged in her nightstand drawer until she found a safety pin to hold it closed before she zipped it up and then left her white blouse untucked.

As usual this early, he was the only man in the waiting room at her doctor’s office. He didn’t find that as uncomfortable as he had the first time. He got the impression the other pregnant women envied Riah that he was there with her. Then again, they could be resenting the presence of a man in what was obviously women’s territory. He leafed through a copy of _Time_ magazine if for no other reason than it kept Riah from worrying that he didn’t want to be there.

Actually, it had surprised him that he did want to be there and that he didn’t mind sitting in a room full of women. Normally, that would annoy him and make him twitchy. He liked knowing what was going on with his wife’s body, with their child, and he had a feeling Riah wouldn’t tell him everything if he didn’t go along with her to the appointments. Casey wanted to know how she was, and he wanted to know what to watch for in case something went wrong. One thing on which he agreed with Lydia Pentangeli was that Riah would have a very hard time coping with another miscarriage.

He tossed the magazine on the table beside him when Riah returned from peeing in the cup so he could hold her hand while they waited. He stood when the nurse called her name and followed her back. He held her bag while she was weighed, hoped no one ever looked at the surveillance video that would prove he’d ever done it. After they were seated in the other waiting room, he put an arm around her and pulled her against him when she yawned. Casey felt a little guilty about how little sleep she had the night before, especially since she was even less good with sleep deprivation now that she was pregnant. He smiled against the top of her head as he thought about the better parts of what had kept them awake the night before.

The examination itself didn’t take that long. Lydia didn’t say much of anything she hadn’t told them the other times they’d gone through this. Riah’s blood pressure was low, but her aunt didn’t seem unduly worried. Lydia was concerned that Riah wasn’t gaining weight. Casey steeled himself not to laugh, not to even let his lips twitch. Riah would gut him for thinking it was funny when Riah snapped Lydia should just be glad she wasn’t getting fat. Her aunt just rolled with Riah’s crankiness.

Casey was surprised when Riah didn’t argue about her due date as she usually did. He felt her relax a little when Lydia told them she was now past the first trimester, which meant Riah was far more likely to carry to term this time. She did warn her niece that there was no guarantee, though. Riah gave a small smile, which led Casey to hope she might finally be able to relax, begin to get excited about being a mother.

When they walked into the Buy More, Casey realized Big Mike was having one of his periodic pissy days when the store manager snapped at Riah, “You’re out of uniform, Mariah. Get that shirt tucked in and get to work.”

In the break room, Mariah clocked in followed by Casey before she stuffed her bag in her locker.

“You’re out of uniform, Mariah,” Big Mike repeated when they came back to the sales floor. Casey had a low growl going that he barely choked off before the manager heard it.

“Sorry, Big Mike, but I seem to have gained some weight,” she lied.

“Well, at least you ain’t pregnant, so I don’t have to fill out a bunch of paperwork for maternity leave or give some of your duties to someone else,” the manager snapped as Casey gritted his teeth, felt his hand fist. “I didn’t want to say anything—especially with all that bullshit about sexual harassment—but you have . . . filled out some. Find some clothes that fit better before your next shift,” he ordered and headed to his office.

Casey followed her to the Nerd Herd desk. After she had taken her seat behind it, he leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss before striding to appliances. He knew better than to try and convince her to go tell their manager she was pregnant after all, especially since he’d barely managed to get her to agree to tell their families. He watched her talk to Bartowski and wondered what they talked about.

As it got closer to time for him to meet Ilsa, Casey gave some thought to how Riah might react when the other woman arrived. He’d had no choice but to ask Ilsa to meet him at the Buy More. It was going to be difficult enough without having to deal with a newly re-angered wife. He watched Riah turn her chair around to talk to Bartowski and Grimes, but then he noticed Chuck’s face shift to disapproval. Casey followed the kid’s gaze and saw Ilsa stride through the door. He sighed. Riah wasn’t going to be the only angry one before this was over. Bartowski would be pissed on her behalf.

Ilsa spotted him the minute she walked in. Casey watched her stroll toward him. He looked over to where Chuck stared at Riah, concern written on the kid’s face. He was about to go see what the problem was when Ilsa reached up to kiss his cheek. Casey barely noticed, focused instead on Riah’s tense back. He watched his wife stand and stiffly walk to the back of the store. Casey was tempted to follow her, especially since the look Bartowski shot his way was vintage angry Intersect.

“Ready, Casey?”

Ilsa’s question broke into his concern. He looked at her, frowned and gestured toward the door. “I need to get a few things. I’ll meet you outside.” He was pissed off when she made no move to leave the store.

He went to the break room and took his pack out of his locker. He had his weapons in the bag. He’d have to go somewhere to change into the suit hanging in the car, and he reluctantly decided that Ilsa’s hotel was probably the best place since he couldn’t take her to Castle and didn’t want to take her to Riah’s home. Grimes chatted up Ilsa when he came back into the store. Casey glowered at them, hoped Ilsa hadn’t told the bearded troll anything that would undo the truce he had made with his wife.

“Your cousin was just telling me she came to help with wedding plans,” Grimes told Casey.

Casey grunted and gestured at the door to get Ilsa moving before the moron said something that gave anything away.

“Shouldn’t Mariah be involved?” Grimes asked silkily. “Isn’t it usually the bride who makes these decisions?”

Ilsa started to turn to the boy, but Casey took a firm hold of her arm and marched her out of the Buy More before she could say anything. When the doors had closed behind them, he told her, “If you made things any worse for Riah than last night did, Ilsa, so help me—“

“You’ll what?” she interjected.

He opened the passenger door of the Vic. He gave her a look as he held the door that made his answer crystal clear.

She became all business then, told him they were having lunch at the hotel. He nodded, and when they arrived, he parked in an employee lot. He spied the van with the tactical team Beckman had on standby. He and Ilsa entered through the back and took the service elevator to her floor. Casey went into the bathroom and shed his Buy More clothes before he quickly put on a white shirt and brown suit. He knotted the coordinating tie and stepped into his shoes. He checked and holstered weapons and then walked out into her room. Ilsa was seated in the chair waiting. She stood, and he gratefully noted she had taken the time to button on a manteau and put on the hijab. He gestured toward the door then followed her to the hall.

The scientist waited for them in the lobby. Casey shook the man’s hand. Ilsa remained silent behind him. They were shown to a table, and after their orders had been taken, they returned to the delicate negotiations they had begun the night before. Casey focused this time. He hadn’t told Ilsa he was wired or that there was a team waiting to take Sherazi into custody. He sincerely hoped this could be finished with this meeting, so he could honestly tell Riah it was done and Ilsa was gone.

Apparently, the scientist realized there were likely people around who spoke French, so he switched to Farsi when he began making his demands and explaining what he could offer in exchange. Ilsa didn’t speak the language. To Casey’s relief, it quickly came back to him. Sherazi spoke quite knowledgeably about the Iranian’s nuclear program, so knowledgeably Casey knew he had contacts in Iran. He talked of what he could do for his former homeland, talked of the research he could bring with him, had with him, but something niggled in the back of Casey’s brain. Even if the man was certain no one else in the vicinity spoke Farsi, no serious defector would have such a discussion in the open.

He supposed it could be the man’s inexperience, but as Sherazi continued, Casey became more convinced there was something really, really wrong with this, and that feeling grew as lunch wore on. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was other than a gut-reaction. Casey’s gut was rarely wrong, but he was in this far, so he would have to play things out until he knew the answer.

Perhaps that was why the sight of Riah and Mona Ellerby being seated behind the scientist made his heart sink. Ilsa was turned so that she hadn’t seen the two women enter, and neither had Sherazi. Riah was no longer wearing the now ill-fitting Nerd Herd outfit but was instead wearing a stunning red dress, one he’d bet had a designer label and showed a luscious length of leg. He focused on what the man opposite him was saying, but when Casey responded, he looked over and caught his wife’s eye. She gave him a hard stare. She stood and went to the restrooms.

Casey soon excused himself. When he reached the narrow hall where the bathrooms were, she waited for him. He took Riah’s arm and pulled her into the men’s room. He made sure it was empty before he locked the door. “What in hell are you doing here?”

“The scientist spies for the Israelis, John,” she said quickly. “One of Mona’s operatives intercepted a phone call. They don’t know the French took the man you are supposed to be. Sherazi’s wired, but when you close the deal, they’re coming after you.”

His first thought was that she was trying to derail his mission with Ilsa. As he looked at her earnest face, he realized she wouldn’t do that. “Riah, you’re sure?”

She hesitated, showed a bit of doubt, but then she nodded. Casey pursued that doubt. Riah simply shrugged. “It’s what Mona and her team say, John, but something doesn’t seem quite right about it.”

“The Israelis know me,” he said, and she nodded once more. He thought quickly. “This makes no sense.” And it didn’t. Well, actually, it did. The U.S. and Israel had had a strained relationship since the Pollard arrest. It still colored some of their interactions.

But it also begged the question of why Casey had not been recognized.

“You need to get back,” Riah said. The look she gave him told him she didn’t fully believe it, either. He thought about the night before when she had told him she was simply the messenger. “Mona and I will hang tight a little while, but then we’ll get out of your way.” She started for the door, but Casey stopped her.

“Toby Yates is outside with the team waiting to arrest Sherazi.” He addressed his next remarks to Yates. After he gave the other man a quick description of Riah, he told him, “When she comes outside, take her to the command center. She’s going to make contact with the Israelis and see if we can get out of this without any serious embarrassment.” He shut the wire down after he heard Yates’s affirmative response. He pulled Riah to him and kissed her. “We still have to take Sherazi, so don’t make any agreements we’re going to violate.”

She looked up at him. “I’m not in the business any more, John. I don’t think I should do this. Perhaps I should call Sarah Walker.”

“Walker has to stay on Bartowski,” he reminded her. “You’re up to speed.”

“I can’t speak for the Americans,” Riah said. “I can’t even speak for Canada.”

He raised his brows. “They don’t know that.”

Riah looked like she was going to protest again, but then she sighed and nodded. He took another quick kiss, but before he could move to the door, she told him, “This stinks, John.”

Casey nearly cracked that it was a men’s room. “We have to let it play out, Riah. Find out what you can from the Israelis.” He tilted his head. “Call someone you can trust.” She nodded. When he unlocked the door, she gestured for him to go first. Casey turned his wire back on before stepping out. Ilsa was watching, and he realized that had he insisted Riah return to the dining room first, she would have been spotted. He was a little worried when it was several minutes before she resumed her seat, but he relaxed when she finally slid into the booth opposite Ellerby.

He dragged out the negotiations, balked at a few things the real doctor would likely have balked at, made a demand or two he was certain Sherazi would not agree to, and generally spun it out until he saw his wife and Ellerby leave. “She’s with us, Colonel,” he heard Yates say a few minutes later.

Ironically, Sherazi got a little squirrelly about then. Casey wondered if Riah had been recognized. She had worked with Mossad a time or two, after all. They continued to go back and forth for a while, but Casey finally decided to pull the plug. They agreed to meet in the lobby before going to dinner. Casey told Sherazi he would make a reservation and then call his room to let him know where they would eat and when. He stood and shook hands once more and then watched the other man leave the restaurant.

“What was that about?” Ilsa asked. She appeared considerably put out.

He heard Riah in his ear then. “Don’t talk in her room, John. Yates believes they bugged it while the two of you were at lunch.” That meant they had probably searched the room and knew his things, other than those he had arrived with, weren’t there. That also meant they likely knew about the Buy More.

“We’re meeting for dinner, Ilsa. I’ll make the reservation, and we’ll close the deal tonight.”

She looked mollified then. Casey settled the bill and walked with her to the elevators. He decided he wouldn’t bother to change, would just head out. He would have to talk to Beckman, but he was certain he should just go ahead and take Yates and the team and get Sherazi now. The Israelis’ involvement changed everything.

In the elevator, what bothered him about this finally clicked. The Israelis would know the man he was impersonating. There was no way they wouldn’t, and there was no way Sherazi wouldn’t have been shown a photograph of the man if he were truly working for Israel. He would have disappeared after the first meet when he realized Casey wasn’t who he claimed. Add to that the fact that Sherazi had shown no prior sympathy for Israel and its probable plight if Iran became a nuclear nation, and this was just completely wrong. What, then, explained the call Ellerby’s agent had intercepted?

It was conceivable that Riah was playing some sort of game of her own here, but he doubted Mona and Adderly were deliberately undermining Ilsa, though he conceded it was possible.

When they reached Ilsa’s room, he was no closer to an answer. Casey entered and gathered his things. He would wait to search them to see if any of them had been tampered with. He told Ilsa he would be in touch. She pushed around him and put her back to the door to stop him from leaving. “Casey, won’t you—“

“No.” He moved her to the side and left her.

The team waited outside the employee’s entrance. Casey joined Yates and a very pale Riah in the command van. _Job first_ , Casey reminded himself before he asked Yates what was going on. Toby tilted his head at Riah.

“John.” The unusual nervous note in her voice meant Casey gave her his full attention. “I called General Beckman.”

He nearly groaned, but then he acknowledged that had probably been a very smart move. Beckman would be furious if Riah became involved in this without her knowledge, especially if it went south. He wasn’t sure it hadn’t already done so. “And?”

“Sir, General Beckman,” a lieutenant said.

Casey took the headset from the man. “Colonel Casey, has Miss Adderly explained to you what she learned from her contact with Mossad?”

He looked over at his wife. “Not yet.”

Beckman did. Riah had called an old friend working at the Israeli embassy. Her friend had denied they had had any contact with Sherazi, was, in fact, stunned that the Canadians—Riah had apparently not told him she was making contact on the American’s behalf—would think such a thing. If anything, Sherazi was on the Israelis’ enemies list since he had made several overtures to various Iranian sources to sell his work. As Riah talked to the man, though, he apparently decided to tell her they had heard some chatter that the Iranians were after something or someone else, and Sherazi was believed to be the key. “He either didn’t know or was unwilling to tell Miss Adderly who or what.”

“General, I think it’s time we simply took Sherazi.”

“I agree, Colonel. I would prefer we did so alive, but if that’s not possible . . . .” Casey knew they had permission to kill the man if there were no other options. He removed the headset and turned to Yates. “Do you have surveillance?”

Yates pointed at two monitors then shot a look at Riah. Casey said nothing about his wife’s presence, so Yates shrugged. “We ran a bug in after he left his room.” He turned on the sound, but Sherazi was seated at a laptop, so there was no sound other than that of his fingers on the keyboard.

“You have a tap on that, right?” Casey asked.

The lieutenant turned a screen toward him so he could see a mirror of Sherazi’s screen. To Casey’s amusement, the man was surfing the web for escort services. “Did they sweep the room when they went in?” Yates nodded and told him they had found nothing. Yates handed over the hotel’s floor plans, which Casey studied for several minutes, noted extraction points they could use and call no attention to themselves when they brought the scientist out. Handing it back, Casey discussed with Yates approaches to the room and how to take the man out.

Riah’s voice interrupted their discussion: “John.”

He looked over, and she nodded at the computer screen the lieutenant turned back around. Sherazi had ordered a blonde. He picked up his phone. “Walker, I need you,” Casey told her when she answered. He gave her the address and told her he needed her to dress for a honey trap. She asked about Bartowski. “Bring him.” He turned back to Yates, “Have someone intercept the girl he ordered.”

Once Walker arrived, Casey briefed her. Chuck seemed surprised to see Riah, but the two of them sat back quietly, which was a surprise for Casey. After all, Bartowski was normally anything but silent. He told Yates Walker would call them when she had Sherazi immobilized. When Riah’s phone buzzed, Casey shot her a look. She started to turn it off, but he asked, “Who is it?”

She blushed. “Dad.”

“Answer it.”

Riah’s face paled at whatever her father had to say. She looked at Casey, who watched her listen. The color returned to her face, and she held her phone out to him. “He wants to talk to you.”

He put her BlackBerry to his ear. “My daughter is not supposed to be working for the NSA.”

“She’s not supposed to be working for you, either,” he returned.

“As long as we’re both clear on that.” Pro forma protest made, Adderly then got down to business. “I checked a little further into the story Mona’s operative turned up. You know Nir Dayan?”

Casey did.

“He owes Mariah his life, so I trust that he wouldn’t lie out of respect for her. According to him, Sherazi is not working with them. I’m inclined to believe him. Meanwhile, Mona ran down the phone call that says otherwise. It went to a number you might recognize.” He rattled it off, and Casey did, indeed, know the owner of that particular number.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said, careful to conceal the anger that coursed through him.

“Normally, I’d say happy hunting,” Adderly told him. “I’m truly sorry, Casey.”

He had never taken betrayal well at all. He probably never would. Casey hung up Riah’s phone and handed it back to her without looking at her. He looked at Yates, and told the lieutenant to let Bartowski, whom he called Carmichael, take over monitoring Sherazi’s computer. He then told the lieutenant to make sure Walker got inside safely.

When the man left, there were only four of them still in the van. Casey knew he could trust three of them. He looked at Yates and ordered, “Unhook, Captain.”

Yates gave him a funny look. “Beg pardon, Colonel?”

“Take off the communications and hand over your weapon.” He didn’t take his eyes off the man. He drew his own weapon and then drew a second one, handed it to Riah.

“You’re making a mistake, Colonel,” Yates said.

“I don’t think so.” Casey kept his eyes locked on the other man’s. “Where’s your cell phone?”

Yates blanched. “Riah,” Casey said. “Get his weapon.” He didn’t look at Bartowski, kept his eyes, instead, on Yates. She made her way over to the Captain, took the man’s gun, and handed it across. “Get his cell phone, too.” She put the muzzle of her gun against the man’s head before running her free hand through his pockets. When she retrieved the phone, she backed off. “Carmichael. See who he’s talked to in the last forty-eight hours.”

Walker’s voice in his ear told him Sherazi was down. He told her to secure him and wait. “Which ones are with you, and which ones can be trusted?” Casey asked the Captain.

“None of them.”

Casey wasn’t surprised, had been sure Yates wouldn’t give him an honest answer.

“Riah?”

“Yes, John?”

“Ellerby have anyone on hand?” He doubted Mona had been allowed to risk bringing his wife to him without making sure she was fully protected, especially since Adderly’s rogue was still running loose.

“Farris and Luden.”

“Ask them to assist Walker.” While Riah made the call, he opened the com line. “Stand down. That’s an order.” He switched frequency to the one he and Walker typically used. “Walker, ISI will provide the assist. Farris and Luden.”

He cuffed Yates and used a set of shackles to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere. He told Chuck to keep an eye on him before he signaled Riah to follow him. He handed Riah an earpiece. “He has four men inside. Walker, how many are with you?”

“Two.”

“Ask the ISI boys to subdue them.” Switching to Yates’s frequency, he asked for a position check. The two not with Walker were on the service elevator. Riah looked at him. He took the weapon from her and holstered it and his own before he took her hand and walked her inside to the elevators. He pushed the button for Sherazi’s floor. After they reached the floor, he steered her down the hall. He handed her his backup piece and said sternly, “No risks.”

She nodded. He went to the side with the call buttons while she went to the other. They both put their backs to the wall, and he hit the button. When the doors opened, they took the two men by surprise. Casey wanted to dress them down for sloppiness even though he had given the order to stand down, but then he realized that in the grander scheme of what was going on, that was less important. “Drop them,” he told them. “Kick them out,” he ordered when they had done so. “Riah.” She used her feet to move the weapons further away. “Out,” he barked.

They backed up as the two men stepped out of the elevator. Walker and the ISI operatives came out of Sherazi’s room then, and when Walker stepped up beside Casey, Riah stepped further back. Casey remained where he was as the two ISI operatives aimed at the men while Walker moved forward to search and cuff them.

Turning to Riah, he grinned at her. She gave him a shaky smile in return and handed him his spare handgun. He checked the safety and holstered it and his own.

“I heard you quit,” one of the operatives said to her as they prepared to move the men out.

“I did,” she answered. “Mona asked for a favor.”

“This the lucky bastard?” the other asked, jerking a nod at Casey.

Riah grinned. “Yes, he is.” Casey slid an arm around her shoulders.

A door opened down the way, and Ilsa poked her head out before stepping into the hall. She eyed Riah dismissively then asked Casey, “What’s happening?”

The ISI boys moved the two men back into the service elevator and hit the button to take them downstairs and out the back. Chuck’s voice told him the containment crew was there. “You can tell your bosses it’s over. We’ll turn over the research Sherazi brought after our guys have had a look at it.”

She was angry, and she narrowed her eyes. “You double crossed me.”

“No, Ilsa, _you_ double crossed _me_.” Riah stiffened beside him, but she said nothing. Casey appreciated that. The last thing he needed was to have to deal with two angry women. “Pack. You’ll be taken to the airport and put on a flight back to Paris.” He would make the call to arrange it as soon as she returned to her room.

“You’re making a mistake, Casey,” she said, but he was unmoved.

“I’ve heard that a lot lately,” he said.

She moved toward him, but to his surprise, Riah stepped between him and the French spy. “He’s giving you an out. I suggest you take it.”

That was the moment he realized her father had filled her in before she handed the phone to him in the van. Ilsa sent a contemptuous look up and down Riah. “Let the adults speak.”

He tensed, knew Riah would not respond well to that. “The grownups have spoken. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re the one being sent to her room without supper.”

The ISI operatives were back, Mona Ellerby and another two operatives in tow, Casey noted. Ilsa shot a look at them then focused back on Riah. “You’ll have no more luck than any other woman ever did,” she bit out softly. “He’s incapable of being faithful. Ask him where he was last night.”

To his surprise, Riah laughed. “You really don’t know him at all, do you?” She stepped closer to Ilsa. “When he came home, he told me where he had been and what you tried to do.” They were the only three in the hallway at that point. Riah put a hard edge on her voice and said, “My husband doesn’t lie to me. He’s given me no reason to distrust him. Take your poison and go home before John decides to have you arrested.”

Ilsa started to say more, but Walker joined them. “Is there something I should know here?” she asked, and it dawned on Casey that she had probably heard the entire conversation, including Riah claiming him as her husband.

The elevator dinged, and two CIA officers got off.

“Detain her until she can be put on a flight back to France,” he told the newcomers.

Walker and the two CIA officers escorted Ilsa back to her room. Casey shook his head when Riah started to say something, so she shut up. He didn’t know if the officers were on the same frequency. He leaned down and kissed his wife. She hadn’t hesitated, and she had performed beautifully. He had a moment’s regret that she had to give this up, particularly since he had seen the tell-tale gleam that told him she was enjoying herself as they worked.

“If your dad was here,” Mona said as she stepped into the hall and saw the kiss, “he’d make some sarcastic comment about Casey molesting you.”

Riah smiled when he lifted his head. “Make sure you describe it in full detail when you talk to him,” she told Mona, and Casey flashed a grin at her before releasing her. “Better yet—embellish.”

“Don’t,” he corrected. “I don’t want the inevitable phone call.”

Mona got down to business. “Where do you want us to take everyone?” she asked.

Casey looked down the hallway where Walker and the CIA officers had gone. “Where do you have them?”

“We handed them over to your containment unit.”

“Leave Sherazi and take the other two down. Tell them we’ll bring the last two down soon.” Mona gestured to the two operatives who had brought the other two detainees out into the hall. They headed to the service elevator. “Thanks, Ellerby,” Casey said.

“Any time,” she said with a grin. She stepped forward and hugged Riah quickly. “Give me a call and we’ll go to lunch for real one of these days.”

“I’ll do that,” Riah promised.

Ilsa came out of her room flanked by the two CIA officers. She fumed, but Casey ignored her. He and Walker got Sherazi, who paled when he realized who and what Casey was. Riah followed them onto the elevator, and they all went downstairs together. They handed Ilsa and Sherazi off, then Casey told Walker to get Chuck and send operatives back up to the scientist’s room to remove his belongings. He slid an arm around Riah, stood and watched as they pulled Yates out of the van and then watched Bartowski and Walker step off as well. A group of NSA agents took their places inside.

Riah removed her earpiece. Casey leaned down to kiss her as he took it. “Well done, Adderly.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” she said with a grin.

He gave her an answering smile. “Miss it?"

“A little,” she admitted, and rubbed her hand down his back onto his ass. He lifted a brow and looked at her. “I think you have cleanup to do. I’m persona non grata these days, so where would you like to debrief me?”

He leaned in for another kiss, this one hot and hungry. Officially, Riah was barred from Castle now, which provided some complications. At the moment, he would really like to misinterpret _debrief_ , especially when she had said it so sexily, but he released her mouth and was about to tell her to go home when his phone vibrated. He didn’t look to see who called, just said, “Casey.”

“Take Miss Adderly back to Castle with you,” General Beckman said and then hung up.

He pocketed the phone and told Riah she was coming with him.

She balked when they arrived, but he told her he had orders. Walker and Bartowski were right in front of them. Walker stopped outside the Orange Orange door and looked at Riah. “You misspoke when you were talking to Ilsa, right?”

Riah shot a look at Casey. He hoped she would tell the lie. He really didn’t want to have to explain what they had done. Riah sighed. “It seemed like the best way to inflict the most damage. I’m a selfish bitch, okay?”

Both Walker and Bartowski relaxed at her words, and Casey did as well. He also realized that Riah hadn’t denied it. They went downstairs, and within moments, General Beckman was onscreen. “Colonel Casey, I’ve had a rather rude phone call from the French intelligence minister.”

“That’s the French for you,” he said snidely; the General frowned.

“Unless there’s a reason we shouldn’t, I’m arranging a flight for Miss Trinchina back to Paris.”

He shrugged. “I made the offer to her,” he admitted, “but we might want to detain her long enough to talk to Yates and see what game they were actually playing."

General Beckman folded her hands before her. “I had a similar thought, Colonel. I’ll make arrangements. I understand, Miss Adderly, that you assisted Colonel Casey.” Riah nodded warily. “I appreciate ISI’s help bringing this to a successful conclusion, and I particularly appreciate your father’s cooperation, especially since you no longer work for ISI.”

Chuck cut in with a startled, “What?”

“The NSA and ISI both insisted that in order to marry John I had to leave ISI. I submitted my resignation about four weeks ago. It was formally accepted by the Director General yesterday,” Riah explained. Casey squeezed the hand he held.

“I would also like to thank you, Miss Adderly, for making contact with the Israelis to help us confirm—or in this case disprove—what our intelligence said was really going on. As I’m sure you’re aware, despite the fact that Israel is a friendly nation, we have long standing issues when it comes to intelligence sharing. It was a great service to have a neutral resource as a liaison.”

“You’re welcome, General,” she said quietly.

“My prior offer still stands.”

Riah smiled. “My previous answer still holds.”

The General thanked the rest of them and then broke the connection. “Well,” Riah said, “if someone will let me out, I’ll let the rest of you get on with it.”

Casey cupped her cheek with his left hand and pulled her to him with his right arm before he kissed her. He was proud of her, and the kiss was as much because of that as it was a promise for when he got home.

“Casey?” Chuck asked. “Are you wearing a wedding ring?”

Surprised Bartowski hadn’t noticed it sooner, Casey lifted his head. “Ilsa and I were posing as a married couple.” He filled in that part for Bartowski. Casey should have removed the ring sooner, but he hadn’t thought of it. He slipped it off, and dropped it in his pocket. If Walker thought it odd he didn’t put it with the others stored there, she said nothing.

Walker looked at Riah. “What did Beckman mean about her prior offer?”

Riah blushed. “She offered me a job.”

Chuck asked, “And you didn’t take it?”

She snorted. “I would have been in violation of the agreement if I had. I’m not allowed to work for another intelligence agency for at least five years.” She forestalled Bartowski’s next question by explaining, “It’s to protect my former agency and my government. They figure what I know will be obsolete by then.” She looked at Casey and added, “Even if that weren’t the case, though, I would have said no.”

Casey watched her. She was going to tell them, he realized. Riah lifted her brows as she returned his stare. She was giving him a chance to stop her, but he decided he didn’t want to. They would have to be told sooner or later. They waited for the inevitable question from Bartowski and grinned at each other like idiots. When Chuck finally asked why, Riah said, “Because I’m pregnant.”


	26. Chapter 26

If anyone had asked, Casey would have said it was impossible to say anything that would render Chuck Bartowski speechless. He was apparently wrong. The younger man stared open-mouthed at them, his eyes moving from Riah to Casey and back again. Walker was the one who finally spoke. “Congratulations,” she said. Casey studied the pained smile on her face. He could tell there was a story behind her expression, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it was.

“Yeah,” Bartowski said. “Yeah! Congratulations!” He sounded more shell-shocked than Casey had felt the night Riah confirmed his suspicions.

Walker’s voice was stronger when she looked at Riah and asked, “When are you due?”

“November,” Riah said.

“So you’re moving the wedding?” Chuck asked.

“No,” Casey explained. “We decided it was too hard to rearrange everything, and we couldn’t find a workable date between now and then.”

Walker came around and hugged Riah, which seemed to surprise his wife. Walker hugged Casey, too, which he submitted to even as he hoped his partner didn’t intend to make a habit of it. Bartowski hugged Riah as well, but he knew better than to hug Casey. Casey might have let him this once—and not threatened his man parts—but he was much more comfortable with the handshake Chuck offered instead.

Riah explained to Walker they hadn’t told anyone else. Casey noticed Walker seemed touched to be the first to know. This was getting a little more touchy-feely than he liked, and as if she could tell what he was thinking, Riah turned to tell him once more that if someone would let her out, she’d leave them to do what they needed. Casey started to walk her to the exit, but Walker suggested he go with her, celebrate. He eyed Walker for several long moments then thought, why not?

Unfortunately, he knew he needed to get his report to the General quickly so she would have what he knew before her team began to question Toby Yates. It also occurred to him that Riah could stay. She was the one who had been sent to tell Casey the false lead, after all, and he nearly smiled as he thought about interrogating her about her part in this. “I need to get Beckman her report, and Riah’s going to have to help.” He quickly explained about how she had become involved.

Walker raised her brows which told him she wasn’t buying it. “Well, then. I guess I’ll take Chuck home. This was your operation, not mine, after all.” She smiled at Riah, though this time it was genuine. “Congratulations,” she said again.

When they were gone, Casey took his wife’s mouth and maneuvered her into the back where there were several cots in a sort of barracks. “You mentioned debriefing?” he said against her mouth.

Riah gave him a slow smile before she whispered, “I’m not wearing any briefs.”

He moaned and took her mouth again before easing her down onto one of the cots. Casey ran a hand under her skirt then whined when he felt the edge of her panties. “I thought you weren’t wearing briefs,” he murmured against her throat.

“I’m not,” she said, “but if you are, perhaps I should debrief you.”

“Not exactly, but carry on, Adderly,” he said as he reached down to knock her shoes off her feet before stroking a hand up her leg to the top of her stockings. She stripped his tie from him before she rapidly worked his shirt buttons out of their holes before she turned her attention to the buttons on his shirt cuffs. Casey toed his shoes off while he fumbled for the zipper on her dress and slid it down her spine. Riah ran her hands inside his shirt and shoved it and his jacket off. He took his arms from around her so he could fully shrug out of his shirt and jacket. He lifted Riah long enough to remove her dress. Casey gave her an admiring look as he eased her back down and reclaimed her mouth, hard and hungry.

Riah’s arms went around him as he fumbled to open her bra only to realize it was in the front. He slid a hand around and released the clasp before he moved the lace cup off a breast while Riah’s hands tugged at his belt. It was only when he heard Bartowski’s, “Oh, God!” that Casey’s mouth released her breast. He let out a frustrated growl.

“God! Sorry! Sorry!” Bartowski babbled. Casey glared over his shoulder at where the kid stood in the doorway with his hand over his eyes. “I called, but no one answered.”

Riah covered her breasts with her hands. Casey tersely demanded, “Why are you still here?”

“Beckman called us back. Sarah sent me to look for you.”

“I’ll be right there.” Casey eyed Riah, wondered how much time dealing with his boss would take.

Chuck still had his eyes covered, but two of his fingers parted so that Casey could make out one brown eye. “She wants Mariah, too.”

Startled, Casey stared at Riah as she went crimson. “We’ll both be there in a second.”

When Bartowski left, Casey pushed off of his wife. He looked around for his shirt while Riah closed her bra and reached for her dress. He buttoned on his shirt but left it untucked and the cuffs undone. It was going to be painfully obvious what they had been doing whether Bartowski blurted it out to the other two women or not, so Casey made little effort to hide it. Riah struggled with the zipper on her dress, so he turned her and helped her. She balked when he started to lead her out to the main room. He took her hand and kissed her swiftly before he practically dragged her out to join the others. He at least slowed his pace when he realized her stockinged feet slipped on the polished concrete floor.

General Beckman studied them for a long moment before declaring, “The federal government is not running a cheap motel, Colonel.”

He ground his teeth but said nothing. Walker was trying to hide her amusement, he noted sourly.

“ISI’s rogue surfaced at your home about ten minutes ago, Casey,” Beckman continued. “Mr. Bartowski’s sister called the police when she saw Ms. Delaney breaking in. Needless to say, the LAPD believes they are dealing with a hostage situation since they can’t get in and Ms. Delaney can’t get out. Leave Miss Adderly in Castle and go find a way to get this situation contained, preferably before the media arrives.”

“Walker, stay with Riah,” he said as soon as Beckman disconnected. “Bartowski, you’re with me.”

“Maybe I should—“ Chuck started to say, but Casey cut him off.

“I need you to deal with Ellie,” he barked.

He was further annoyed that he had to go get his shoes. He tucked his shirt in and folded back his shirt cuffs. He considered putting on the Buy More polo, but that would take more time. As he bent and kissed Riah, he told her, “Call Ellerby and see if she can do anything to help.”

It was a circus when they got there. He told Chuck to find Ellie and sent him ahead. Casey walked up to an officer and asked who was in charge. He sighed as a television truck pulled up across the street. The officer looked at him oddly, so Casey opened his wallet and showed his driver’s license to the man. “I live in the apartment you were called to.”

The officer spoke into his radio, and then he waved Casey at the courtyard. A police sergeant intercepted him. “You in charge?” Casey asked.

He shook his head and pointed at the man he said was his lieutenant. Casey walked over to the other man and pulled his other wallet out. He showed the man his badge and ID. “There’s sensitive equipment and material in that apartment,” Casey said. “I need you to get your men out of here and let me get mine in.”

“There’s an intruder in there, and we’re about to go in,” the lieutenant told him.

“You’re going to wind up with several dead officers if you do,” Casey said on a low growl. “The federal government spent a lot of money making the place assault-proof. In addition to putting up a neon sign advertising what it is, you’re going to get good officers killed. I’m ordering you to call your men off and let me put mine in.”

“Who the fuck are you?” the lieutenant snapped.

Casey dropped his voice, opened the wallet one more time and said, “I suggest you read it this time, asshole. I’m Colonel John Casey, and that’s my apartment.” The lieutenant’s eyes dropped to the badge and ID. His eyes shot wide when he identified Casey’s agency. “The media are arriving, and if you don’t shut this down, you’re going to blow two years’ worth of work. I’ll have the intruder dealt with.”

“I can’t let you—“

“You will.” Casey gave him a glare. “The intruder is a foreign spy.”

Mona Ellerby and five operatives wearing FBI vests approached them then. Part of Casey wondered how they got the vests, and part of him admired the fact that they would raise no red flags in those the way they would have if they wore ISI vests. Under the circumstances, he was also going to ignore the fact that ISI technically had no jurisdiction there. “Colonel Casey,” she said quietly so that her voice didn’t carry. Casey had noticed that the residents had been moved out of the courtyard and across the street from where he and the lieutenant stood, so it was only the cops who might hear. “I understand you have my fugitive cornered.”

She held her ID up, and so did her operatives. “We’ll take it from here, Lieutenant.” The man heaved a disgusted sigh, said nothing about the discrepancy between the vest markings and their IDs. “For the moment, hold your men in place. Under no circumstance are they to fire or try to enter the apartment. Do you understand?” The lieutenant nodded. She turned to Casey then. “Let’s play this that you’re helping us with the floor plan. We’ll try to keep your status under wraps. Where’s Mariah?”

“Safe,” he said, and it occurred to him then that had she not gone back to Castle with them, if he had sent her home after the call with Beckman, she might well not have been.

“Who’s Mariah?” the lieutenant asked.

“My fiancée and Delaney’s target,” Casey said.

LAPD shook his head in disgust. For a moment, Casey sympathized with the man. He wouldn’t like being told to let the big boys take over any more than this man did. Of course, Casey was pretty much always one of the big boys who took over. Ellerby asked if they knew where exactly the rogue was. The lieutenant shook his head. Casey asked, “Have a laptop?”

Ellerby called one of her operatives over who had a communications pack. Someone had dragged a table into the entryway where they had cover. She set up the laptop so the screen faced the wall and looked at Casey. He very quietly walked her through connecting to the security feeds in the living room. He was going to have to change all the codes when this was over anyway—assuming Beckman didn’t just move them out. Delaney paced the living room where she was trapped by iron bars. Ellerby looked at Casey, obviously amused. “No wonder V. H. wasn’t overly worried about Mariah’s safety here.”

“Your problem is that when you go in, she’s got the ability to shoot you like fish in a barrel.” Casey looked thoughtfully at her. “Adderly tell you what happened to Parker?”

It took her a second to think, but then she nodded. “We don’t have those.”

He slid his keys out of his pocket as he leaned forward and pretended to look at the blueprints on the table. He set the keys down near her, flattened his hand next to them. “There’s a black Suburban in the lot, government plates. In the very back, there’s a black duffel. Get one of your men to bring it in.”

She called over an operative and gave the order. Casey, still leaning over the blueprints, said, “Don’t drop it.” The man looked nervous, which amused Casey. The tranq guns were the most dangerous things in that particular bag. While they waited, he stood and crossed his arms. “You’ll have to go in the front; there’s no other accessible entrance.”

“The windows?” she asked.

“Bulletproof,” he explained as he studied the monitor, “and it looks like she thought of that already.” He wrote down the code to lift the bars Delaney had triggered.

“Paranoid much, Colonel?” Casey heard the amusement and ignored it. It kept him and Riah safe, and it could serve multiple functions in a pinch, including the one it was now—containment for a criminal.

The real FBI turned up, and, thankfully, Casey recognized the agent in charge. Al Richardson ignored Ellerby and asked, “What’s going on, Casey?”

He quickly introduced Mona Ellerby and gave a succinct summary of the situation. Casey then looked at Ellerby and said, “I think it’s time I stepped away before someone thinks to ask questions I don’t need asked. Richardson, play nicely.”

Casey joined Chuck and Ellie then. Bartowski’s sister stared at him. “What’s happening, John?”

He sighed and assumed his sweet neighbor act. “I had to answer a bunch of questions for them—where the furniture is, verify that the apartment hasn’t been modified since the floor plans were filed.” He shrugged. “That’s all I know.”

Casey was anxious, and not just because he had to take a backseat and let others do what he did best. He had reason to thank Riah when he saw her. The sensitive material was upstairs, and it wouldn’t have been if Riah hadn’t made her executive decision over a year ago. That didn’t mean he wanted ISI and the FBI traipsing through his home. He also didn’t need the attention. Someone would tell the press who lived there, and if he was very lucky, no one would do any digging around into the backgrounds of the two residents of that particular apartment. Then there was Riah herself. Delaney was there for her, after all.

Walker pulled up a moment later. Casey nearly groaned when she and Riah got out of the car. He would have preferred Walker kept Riah out of sight. All he needed was for someone to spot her who shouldn’t, but when she walked to where he leaned against a low wall next to Chuck, Casey opened his arms and let Riah walk into them, held her. She lifted her face, so he dropped an absentminded kiss on her mouth, his attention on Ellerby’s maneuvers across the road.

Riah settled against him, her back to his front, and he crossed his arms over her abdomen. She wrapped her hands around his forearms and talked to Ellie while Casey studied the operation as ISI prepared to move forward. When he felt Riah stiffen and heard her suck in a sharp breath, he whispered, “What?” in her ear.

“The blonde reporter, dark pink suit,” she whispered back.

He searched the press gang and located the woman she meant. The blonde was staring right at them. “Got her.”

“Sandra Kirkwood.”

As soon as he heard the name, he knew why Riah was upset. He gave Walker a look, and his partner distracted Ellie so he could talk to Riah without Ellie hearing, hopefully. The reporter Riah identified had been her father’s mistress while Kirkwood still worked in Canada, and she had obviously recognized Riah. He watched Kirkwood turn to a cameraman and then wave for him to follow. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t think I have much choice,” Riah sighed. “If I leave, she will assume I belong here. She’s probably recognized Mona, so she’ll think ISI has something going on. She’s tenacious, and if she even remotely believes I’m involved in whatever’s going on, she won’t let it go.”

He kissed her cheek. “Keep it simple.”

“Thanks for not adding the stupid,” she shot back, and Casey grinned.

“Mariah.” Kirkwood oozed insincere sincerity. Casey supposed they ought to be grateful the reporter hadn’t added Riah’s last name, which would have tipped Ellie off that Riah wasn’t who she claimed.

“Sandra,” Riah returned curtly.

“It’s been a long time.” The blonde flashed a perfect, arctic-white smile.

“Not long enough.” Casey got a sinking feeling. Then it occurred to him that if Riah played it too politely, Kirkwood might get suspicious.

“Who’s this?” the blonde asked and sent a flirtatious look Casey’s way. When Riah said nothing, she followed up with, “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Things started moving across the way, and the cameraman distracted the blonde before one of them had to give up his name. Kirkwood raced back across the street, cameraman in tow, and Ellie stared at Riah. “How do you know Sandra Kirkwood?”

Riah breathed in deeply. “She split my parents up.”

Casey noted it was exactly the right thing to say in terms of distracting Ellie. He was amused that no matter how closed-mouthed Riah tried to be, Ellie managed to pretty much worm the entire story out of Riah in very little time at all.

Ellerby made good use of the information he provided, so it wasn’t all that long before the operation wound to a close. Delaney was hustled out to a waiting car and driven away, all, apparently, without her having seen Riah. Ellerby did a mop-up, had Richardson deal with the press, and largely stayed out of Kirkwood’s way. Casey wondered what they told the reporters about the people who lived in the apartment and about Delaney herself. He just hoped they didn’t name names.

Ellerby sent the LAPD over to tell the residents when they could return to their homes, and Ellie asked if Riah and Casey wanted to come with them. Ellerby stopped them as they entered the courtyard to ask if Casey would come with her. He sent Riah with Ellie, hoped that would keep any lingering press from connecting her to the apartment, especially since he saw Kirkwood still lurking.

They did a walk-through. Nothing was missing, and nothing was damaged. Casey heaved a sigh of relief at that. The computer equipment had been off, so Delaney had had no chance to get any of the electronic information. Her one attempt had sent the security measures into effect. Casey had several hours of reprogramming to do, codes to change, and he didn’t look forward to it at all. Maybe he could get Bartowski to lend a hand. He and Ellerby looked at each other when he finished his inspection. Ellerby suddenly laughed. “Honestly, Casey, do you really need that much weaponry?”

“Honestly, Ellerby? This has been the damnedest assignment I’ve ever had.” He took her through the other features, including the decontamination shower, and her eyes went round when he explained that he had actually had to use it. The arsenal above the fireplace had thrown her when he checked it. Now he told her Riah had nearly set the place on fire when she tried to use the fireplace before he’d shown her the hidden gun safe.

When they were finished, Casey said a gruff thanks. Ellerby grinned and told him by her book they were even. As she stepped back out of the apartment, she turned to him and said, “You or Mariah had better call V. H. He’s been more worried about Delaney and her possible friends than he ever was about Gray Laurance.”

“Probably because Laurance never got his hands dirty.”

She nodded. “Just call him and put him at ease, okay?”

After Ellerby left with what remained of her team, Casey walked over to Ellie’s apartment. Bartowski opened the door and stepped back to let him in. When Riah crossed to him, Casey pulled her to him, kissed her and held her close. Ellie came out of the kitchen and fired questions at him. Eager to escape, Casey explained that they could go home, nothing was damaged or stolen. Ellie shivered, said she didn’t think she could ever feel safe again if someone had invaded her home that way.

Ellie was far more rattled than either he or Riah, so Casey lingered, mainly because he wanted to make sure Chuck wouldn’t say something he shouldn’t to ease his sister’s unrest. About the time he thought he could extract them, Woodcomb arrived, and they had to go through it all again. Casey’s phone vibrated. Considering he didn’t have it set for that, he knew there was a perimeter breach somewhere. He shifted, drew it out of his pocket and shot a glance at it. Looking up, he caught Riah’s solemn expression. Casey dropped a kiss on her mouth. He told her, “I need to take this,” then stepped outside.

Sandra Kirkwood lurked outside their apartment, her hands curved over and around her eyes as she tried to peer in the windows. Maybe he should add some outdoor refinements to the security measures.

“Can I help you?” Casey asked, not at all bothering to hide the fact he was pissed off.

Kirkwood turned and gave him a very practiced smile. She stepped forward and thrust her hand out. “Sandra Kirkwood,” she said, but before she could tell him her station affiliation, Casey crossed his arms and lifted a brow. She dropped her hand when it was obvious he didn’t intend to take it.

“I know who you are.”

“You live here, right?”

He nodded.

“Where’s Mariah Adderly?”

Casey didn’t move, didn’t change expression. After a few moments, Kirkwood changed tactics.

“The intruder was in your apartment. I wondered if you would care to give me an interview.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Kirkwood, but, no, I wouldn’t care to give you an interview.” He kept his voice pissed but polite.

She licked her lips and smiled again, a more intimate kind of smile, but Casey remained unmoved. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“It wasn’t thrown.”

“That was quite a ring Mariah was wearing,” she countered. “From the way you were holding her, anyone would assume you were the one who put it there.”

Casey stared implacably back at her. Plenty of people knew they were getting married. If she knew, Kirkwood would tell him. He was not going to give her any information nor was he going to confirm anything she might already know.

“I heard a rumor she’s getting married,” she added. “Some American friend of V. H.’s.” She tilted her head. “You that friend?”

He considered telling her she was on private property, but Casey had a feeling she would only dig her heels in and then go digging deeper to find out who he was and what had really happened in that apartment that afternoon. He might be better off to continue playing dumb and hope she went away.

“I noticed Mona Ellerby was directing the operation.”

“Who?” Casey asked. Two could play that game, so he sold his confusion. “Oh,” he said after a moment, letting his feigned confusion fade, “the woman from the FBI.”

Kirkwood opened her mouth to say something, but then she closed it. He hoped she was about to give up. Instead, the reporter regrouped once more. Casey weighed the pros and cons of eliminating her. It would raise questions, but since the woman had a reputation for sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong, the assumption just might be that she had finally stuck it in the wrong wrong place.

“You’re kind of cute,” Kirkwood said with another smile. “In fact, you’re exactly the type Mariah usually goes for. I’ll bet you’re the fiancé, and I’ll bet you’re an operative.”

He was going to have to give her something, Casey knew. He would give a little but make sure it fell far short of what she was actually fishing for. He put his best earnestly honest look on his face and launched into an explanation. “Look, Miss Kirkwood. I live here. Someone broke in today, and my girlfriend is pretty spooked by that. I don’t know what an operative is, though. I work at an electronics store.”

She ran her eyes over him, and Casey was glad he was wearing clothes that didn’t tie him to the Buy More. He could tell when she decided he probably worked as a manager or owned a business. There was still a speculative look in her eyes. The second he got her to leave, he would call Riah’s father because Casey was certain Kirkwood would go fishing for who he was, and he was equally certain she would call V. H. He toyed with requesting rendition, certain Kirkwood wasn’t a U.S. citizen and positive that if she continued to pursue this, Bartowski would be in danger.

Kirkwood narrowed her eyes at him a moment. “I’ve seen you before,” she said. “It’ll come to me. In the meantime, give my regards to Mariah.”

He watched her walk away and palmed his phone. He called V. H.’s private number. “Sandra Kirkwood is going to be a problem,” he said without preamble when the other man answered.

“She always is,” V. H. sighed.

Casey gave a curt summary of his two encounters with the reporter. Then he said, “Talk to my boss about a solution.”

“Is my daughter alright?”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “She’s fine. By the way, thanks for letting her lend a hand.”

“Mona tells me you showed your thanks by molesting Mariah.”

Casey grunted. “Your daughter told her to tell you all about it in vivid detail.” He turned to look over his shoulder at the Bartowski residence. “And let’s get a few things straight about who molests whom. I can send you photographs of what your daughter did to me when we went to bed last night.”

For once, Adderly was speechless. Casey waited, wondered if he had taken that a step too far. V. H. was Riah’s father, after all, and the intimate details of their sex life were none of his business. Of course, that was the point, and Casey was more than a little tired of being told he molested Riah. “Who has Delaney?” Adderly asked when he finally recovered.

“Ellerby’s team took her. If you want her isolated, we can send her where the Fulcrum agents go,” Casey offered.

“I’ll consider it when I get the official report from Mona.”

Casey shot another look at Bartowski’s apartment. “There’s one other thing I probably shouldn’t tell you, especially since it will piss Riah off when she finds out I told you first.”

“Will it convince her to dump you and come back to Canada to marry a nice farmer in Manitoba?” V. H. cracked.

“Not going to happen,” Casey assured him happily. “She’s pregnant.”

“See, I _knew_ you were molesting my daughter,” V. H. shot back. “Seriously, though, how’s she doing?”

“That’s one of the reasons I’m telling you before she does. She’s scared to death, and things like what happened today don’t help.” Casey sighed. “She’s three months along, and I don’t think I would have convinced her to tell people if she wasn’t beginning to show.”

“She told her mother yet?”

“We’re planning to do that tonight. I would appreciate it if when she calls to tell you, you would do your best to be supportive and not make cracks she can obsess over.”

For once, V. H. was serious. “I promise to be supportive, and as an added bonus, I will refrain from saying anything about how your continued molestation of my daughter caused this.”

So much for Adderly taking anything seriously, he thought. “For twenty-four hours, V. H., be supportive.”

“Done,” he agreed. “Congratulations, Casey.”

“Thanks.”

Casey wondered if he should knock when he returned to Chuck’s or just walk in. He rapped on the door and waited. Bartowski pulled the door open and stepped outside. “What was that?”

“Nosy reporter,” he answered. “I took care of it.”

Riah was sitting in a corner of the sofa, Woodcomb and Ellie sat on the other end, and Walker was in the armchair when he and Chuck stepped back inside. Chuck sat on the arm of Walker’s chair, and Casey, as he had done Christmas, scooped Riah up and sat with her in his lap. She blushed when he kissed her.

Ellie said, “I thought I saw you talking to Sandra Kirkwood just now.”

Riah looked unhappy.

“She was snooping around when I went outside to answer the phone,” Casey said. “She wanted an interview.” He looked at his wife. “I sent her away.” Riah relaxed again, but Ellie wasn’t willing to let it go.

“That was just so weird,” she said. “That woman broke into your apartment, and then she didn’t try to get away. Any idea what she was after?”

Casey shrugged. “We have some electronics; Riah has some jewelry. Who knows?”

“All those cops, and the FBI,” Ellie continued. “It just seemed like overkill for a burglar.”

Chuck cut his sister off then, and Casey wanted to strangle Bartowski despite the fact that what he started would successfully derail Ellie. “Casey and Mariah have some good news, Sis.”

Ellie’s mind was obviously still on the break-in, and Casey watched his wife pale as she realized what they were going to have to say to distract her. Telling the other woman Riah was pregnant, though, was likely to take her mind off the break-in, so he gave Riah a resigned look, noticed she had realized the same thing. She looked over at Ellie. “We’re having a baby.”

Ellie squealed and launched herself at them. Casey still wanted to strangle Chuck as his back was pummeled by the sofa and Ellie’s hands as she squeezed them both as hard as she could, but he decided he’d let the other man live. Ellie’s husband, predictably, shouted, “Awesome!”

“When?” Ellie demanded when she finally released them.

“November,” Riah said and then explained once more, as she had done for Chuck earlier, why they weren’t moving the wedding.

Ellie asked who her doctor was, and when Riah told her, she was suitably impressed. “How on earth did you manage that? She’s one of the best and virtually impossible to get in to see.”

Riah blushed. “She’s my aunt.”

“Whoa!” Woodcomb said. “We studied her stuff when we had to do our obstetrics training.”

“Celebrate,” Ellie cried, practically bouncing in her seat. “We have to celebrate!”

All things considered, Casey was tired, and he had a lot of work ahead of him. He looked across at Walker. It was apparent she understood but also accepted that they would have to delay to keep Ellie off the trail. Oddly, Casey didn’t mind the idea of celebrating Riah’s pregnancy, though he preferred their personal celebrations. Before he knew it—and from Riah’s bemused expression, things had moved along faster than she would have preferred as well—they all agreed to go out to dinner. “I need to change,” Casey said. “How about we go do that and meet outside in about an hour?”

“You know,” Walker added, “I should probably change, too.”

When they were outside, Casey told his partner, “Our place, Walker. While Riah changes, we can call Beckman.”

Riah went upstairs while he quickly reprogrammed the codes in the security system on the door before he dialed up Beckman from the living room. The General was not happy when Casey told her he had walked Ellerby through accessing the security feeds, but when he went on to talk about Sandra Kirkwood, she acknowledged he had done the right thing. She told them to prioritize the reprogramming, reminded Casey she needed his report immediately on the Sherazi fiasco, and then paused. He and Walker had shot each other uneasy looks. “What?” the General demanded, having obviously noticed.

Walker took the lead. “Ellie Bartowski was on her way to working out that something was not right with the Delaney situation, so we used misdirection to get her off track.”

“Misdirection, Agent Walker?” the General asked frostily.

Casey cleared his throat. “We gave her something else to obsess over.”

“And what might that be, Colonel Casey?”

He could hear Riah on the stairs, so he decided to stall until she could join them. “Well, we’re going out to celebrate.”

Beckman leaned forward and gave them a very disgruntled look. “I fail to see how having your home broken into by a woman who was after your fiancée is cause for celebration, Colonel.”

He slid his arm around Riah as she joined them. She took over the explanation as she leaned into him. “We told Ellie I’m pregnant.”

Casey realized that statement had, for the third time that day, struck the listener speechless.

“Is this true?” the General finally asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” Casey couldn’t stop the small smile. His boss was unlikely to be happy about this, so he wondered what further concessions she might insist they make.

“Are you alright?” Beckman asked Riah.

“So far,” she said. “I’m a little more than three months along, which, according to my doctor, makes it more likely I’ll carry to term this time.”

General Beckman sat back. “It appears, Colonel, that we have quite a few things to talk about, but they can wait a little while. I’ll order the detention unit to continue to hold Miss Trinchina until further notice, I’m sending someone from the Los Angeles office immediately to reprogram the surveillance codes in your apartment, and I’ll discuss reassignment of Miss Kirkwood with her employers.” She lifted a brow. “You will provide me with my report by ten a.m. Washington time tomorrow, and you and Miss Adderly are to be available to me at seven a.m. your time.”

Casey nodded.

“Congratulations, Colonel, Miss Adderly,” she said then. “Take good care of your fiancée, Casey.” The seal replaced her on the monitor.

“We’ve got about twenty-five minutes left,” Walker announced.

“I’ll change.” Casey dropped a kiss on Riah’s cheek. “Do you need us to stall until you can get back?”

“I keep extra clothes in the trunk of my car,” Walker reminded him with a smile. “If you can let me use your bathroom, I think I can make the deadline.”

He dragged his wife upstairs with him where Riah perched on the side of the bed while he changed into clean clothes. Casey put on the charcoal suit he had worn for her birthday, but he left the tie off. Riah wore a green dress, one he hadn’t seen before. “I had to do some shopping,” she explained when he asked.

“You’re not upset we had to tell Ellie, are you?”

She shook her head. “It beat the alternative. We’ve still got to tell our families, though.”

He leaned down and pulled her off the bed. “When we get home.”

Riah drew him to her for a kiss. “I thought we might make a quick call to our mothers now,” she said softly.

Casey linked his hands in the small of her back. “I know what you’re trying to do.” She raised her brows. “You want to distract them from the incessant wedding talk.”

In truth, it was Ariel Taylor who was driving her crazy. Ariel had begun insisting that Riah had to choose a dress soon so they could finish working out details for decorating the hotel ballroom where they would be married again. Mariah refused to consider buying a dress yet. She told Casey she didn’t want to buy something that might no longer fit when the time came. It made sense to him, so he didn’t push her, despite several calls from her mother insisting he do exactly that.

“Misdirection worked on Ellie,” Riah offered with a smile. Casey noticed she didn’t deny it.

“Who’s first?” he asked.

“Jane.”

Casey fished his phone out and dialed his mother’s number. She answered on the third ring.

“Mother? It’s Johnny.” She chattered a moment about the family before she asked why he was calling. Casey grinned at Riah who smiled right back at him. “I thought you might like to know you’re going to be a grandmother again.” For once, his mother did shout enthusiasm. He answered her question about when, and when she asked, he handed the phone to Riah.

She looked nervous, sounded it, too, when she said hello to his mother. Riah blushed and thanked the other woman. Casey assumed his mother was offering congratulations. “He’s taking good care of me,” she assured his mother. Casey snorted, thought about the night before. “No, we told you first,” Riah said next. That, he knew, would please his mother. “No, we’re not moving the wedding up.” She raised her brows at him. He pointed at his watch. She nodded. “I’m going to let you talk to John.” A second later, she smiled and said, “Thanks.”

His mother asked if Riah was really alright; Casey assured her she was. She congratulated him, and he told her he loved her and goodnight. Riah was already fishing her BlackBerry out of her bag when he hung up. Her mother wasn’t answering, so she left a message asking Ariel to call her. Casey considered telling her to call her father, but they were almost out of time. Adderly wouldn’t mind if it was late when she called him.

Walker was downstairs when they returned to the living room. She wore pants and a slinky top, or, as Casey thought of it, standard fake-girlfriend attire. As his partner stood, a knock sounded on the door. He expected Bartowski, but it was the tech Beckman sent. Walker went on out to delay the Bartowskis a few minutes. The tech wore a uniform from a home security company, and after Casey checked his ID, he let him in, showed him the equipment downstairs, and scribbled his number in case he needed him. Then Casey steered Riah outside where the others waited by the fountain.

Casey had not expected to enjoy himself, given the company, but he did. It was different, he realized, when he was the one with something to celebrate. As the evening wore on, he found himself increasingly wanting to confess he and Riah were already married, but he remained silent. Ellie obviously envied Riah, so Casey wondered whether she and Ken Doll had considered starting a family yet. Ellie’s attention was on Chuck and Woodcomb when Casey leaned over and kissed Riah. When he released her mouth, Riah murmured that she loved him, so Casey leaned in to catch her mouth once more.

After Riah yawned for the fourth time, he suggested they call it a night. They separated in the apartment building courtyard. Walker went with the Bartowskis, while Casey led Riah home. The tech was still there, so Casey sent his wife upstairs while he discussed the work the kid had already done. He sent the man home, checked his work, and then changed the codes the tech had entered. When Casey finished, he swept for any surveillance he hadn’t placed himself. He would never completely trust anyone else, and now that he had more than himself to worry about, he especially didn’t trust someone he didn’t know. He looked at his watch. It was still fairly early, but given the lack of sleep he was working on, he decided to join his wife and get up early enough to write Beckman’s report before he and Riah met with the General.

Riah was leaving the bathroom when he reached the top of the stairs. He smiled at the short black gown she wore, especially since he didn’t intend for her to wear it much longer. From the way his wife eyed him, he suspected it would only waste time for him to change. After he led her into their bedroom, she ran her hands under his suit jacket and pushed the fabric off him. He didn’t object to Riah’s help removing his clothes, and at least she let him hang the suit up before she dragged him to their bed.

 

He lay sleepily on his back with his wife draped mostly over him and breathed in deeply. This certainly beat the night before, he reflected. Riah’s mouth was on his throat. Then she kissed along the underside of his jaw. When she reached his mouth, he opened for her. There was no heat in the kiss, but Casey wasn’t really sure he was up to another round. He was quite content to just have his naked wife in his arms.

Riah kissed him again and murmured, “I could do with considerably less excitement than we’ve had the last couple of days.”

He grinned and pressed a quick kiss to her mouth. “We’re spies, Riah. It’s part of the lifestyle.”

She snuggled into him, tucked her head into his shoulder and said, “Correction, Colonel. You’re a spy. I’m just your wife.”

Those words made him smile. _His wife_. He really liked the sound of that. “Regrets?” he asked when he thought once more about what she had given up to marry him. He started to worry when she didn’t answer right away.

“I’m not sure,” she finally said. “I’ll miss it, but I think I might like having something close to a normal life for a change.” He ran a hand up her side, but then she added, “Not that it’s going to be that normal married to you.”

He lifted his head and looked at her. “What does that mean?”

Her smile was wry. “You do tend to attract trouble, John, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She kissed him again, slow and soft, which took the sting out of it for Casey. He didn’t doubt she loved him, but he wondered again if she would come to resent that she had been the one to pay the price for them to be together.

Rolling her to her back, he propped himself on his elbows above her. “I think we both attract our share of trouble.”

She nodded her concession. “Fair enough.”

Casey watched her expression cloud. “What?” he asked gently.

Her eyes took on a wounded look for a moment. “I don’t want our child to have the kind of childhood I did, John.”

He gathered her to him, kissed her. He couldn’t promise their child wouldn’t be threatened, and she knew that. He couldn’t promise they would stay together forever, either. His line of work was dangerous, and he had cheated the odds for over two decades. He was careful, thorough, but one day it might not be enough. She knew that, too, though, just as he knew that wasn’t the part that scared her.

Her anxiety stemmed from twin fears: that their child would be threatened because of what they did for a living or that the job would break them apart. He would do whatever it took to see that the first either never happened or that the risk was minimal, and he told her that. The second, well, he just hoped the night before proved that they could work things out. “Preferably without the teeth and nails,” he told her.

She gave a funny little laugh and pulled him closer. “No more surprises, John.”

He kissed her rather than answer. There were things he ought to tell her, things that might shake the foundation of their relationship. She seemed to know most of the worst, and he didn’t really think the rest would ever come to light. It was ancient history, for the most part, and most of it was buried in a grave at Arlington.

The kiss took a heated turn, and just as things were starting to get interesting, Riah’s phone sang out. He nearly told her to ignore it, but he recognized her mother’s ring tone. Casey knew Riah had to tell Ariel she was pregnant before his mother called the other woman to discuss the latest wrinkle. It was a little weird that the two women had hit it off so well, he thought, but it had also made things less stressful for his wife. Right now, less stress was good.

Riah fumbled for her phone as he pushed up onto his elbows and waited. She looked nervous, and he realized that every time she had to tell her mother momentous news, she seemed scared to death. His default opinion of Ariel was that she was a spoiled bitch, but he had to admit that even though some of her initial reactions to matters related to her daughter caused either pain or an emotional retreat for Riah, she generally came around quickly to do what her daughter needed most.

He listened as Riah exchanged greetings with her mother and eyed him. He felt her tense as she worked her way toward telling Ariel her news, and he considered taking the phone and doing it for her if only to get her to relax once more. “I called to tell you you’re going to be a grandmother,” Riah finally said in a rush. Casey watched as she all but cringed while she waited for her mother to say something.

He listened as she reassured her mother she was fine, told Ariel she had been to see Lydia that morning, and then Riah admitted she hadn’t told her father yet. She went on to say that, no, they weren’t moving up the wedding. He heard an edge to Ariel’s voice even though he couldn’t quite make out the words. Riah held firm, though. “John’s telling Jane,” he heard her say, and he thought it wise that she didn’t admit his mother had known for several hours now.

When the call was over, he kissed her. “Call V. H.” Riah sighed and dialed.

This call was easier for her than telling Ariel, probably because Riah still worried about the enmity that had been between Casey and her mother. She smiled when she listened to whatever her father told her after she shared the news. Casey felt her relax. She listened a moment, and then she laughed. Casey quirked a brow, though he was glad V. H. was apparently doing as he’d promised and being supportive. As she listened, Riah’s eyes danced mischievously up at him, and that was the only warning he had before she told her father, “I’m just glad all that hard work I put into molesting John paid off.”

Not surprisingly, there was a verbal explosion from her father. Casey wondered what V. H would have to say when he called him—because he was certain V. H. would call him.

Riah finished talking to her father, turned off the phone, and wrapped her arms around Casey. “I really should call Emma, but I think it can wait.”

He was perfectly happy to accommodate her when she pulled him down and fixed her mouth to his.

 

The next morning Riah fidgeted while they waited for the General to call. He was about to distract her when the video link came alive. “Colonel, Miss Adderly,” Beckman said tartly. “I received your report, Casey. Thank you for responding quickly. We’ll talk to Miss Trinchina this morning, and if all goes well, she’ll be back in Paris by tomorrow. I take it the reprogramming is finished?” After he confirmed it, she folded her hands and leaned forward.

Casey felt Riah tense when Beckman did that, and he knew why. It was usually the woman’s cue that she was about to either give an order or dress someone down. Casey was curious which it would be. “V. H. Adderly sends his thanks for our assistance in detaining Ms. Delaney,” she said. “However, this is just one more in a long line of unacceptable threats for Mr. Bartowski.”

“With all due respect,” Casey began, but his commanding officer cut him off.

“This particular threat may have been directed at Miss Adderly, Colonel, but there’s no denying that it could have had disastrous effects on the Intersect. After all, Delaney was there for Miss Adderly, and sooner or later someone is going to realize that Miss Adderly is not the source of the intelligence arousing curiosity. They’ll then wonder who is.”

Casey had a sinking feeling. It was possible Beckman was about to renege on the agreement to let them marry. Of course, they already had, but he had a feeling presenting his boss with a _fait accompli_ would not mean that was the end of it.

“And then there is the issue of Miss Adderly’s pregnancy.”

_Here it comes_ , he thought. Riah went rigid. Casey slid his arms around her from behind. Beckman could take that how she liked, but he had no intention of letting her send Riah away—not now, not ever.

“Miss Adderly,” she said sternly, “your father is rightly concerned about your health and your safety.”

Casey gritted his teeth, concerned about them as well. He made a mental note to tell V. H. to butt the hell out.

“Your father further thinks it might be best if you went home for a while.”

Over his dead body, Casey thought. He was not going to let Riah be separated from him, and if V. H. thought he could manage that, he had another think coming—Beckman, too, for that matter. Riah’s face turned up and back to look at him so Casey could easily read her misery. He added to his mental note for Adderly.

“Riah stays.” That was absolutely nonnegotiable. Casey would quit if he had to.

Beckman’s head tilted down. Had she been wearing her reading glasses, she would have been looking over their tops. “I quite agree, Colonel. Miss Adderly has proven useful. I see by your expression that you are considering behaving foolishly on her behalf.” She gave him a hard look. “I refuse to let you behave foolishly, Casey. I also hope that parenthood will not unduly interfere with your ability to do your job.”

He was reminded of the negotiations for their marriage. Riah had sacrificed to have him, and he was willing to reciprocate. He heard, however, Beckman’s warning. His country had invested a lot of money in him, and he was good at what he did. He did not answer the General, though, because he wasn’t sure he would give her the answer she sought.

She nodded at his continued silence. “Now,” she said, moving to other matters, “will this news affect your leave application?”

“No, ma’am.” She seemed surprised by that. “We couldn’t find another date.”

The general nodded. “I assume you’ll want to take paternal leave when the child is born?”

He hadn’t really thought about it. Casey considered, and then told her that he would.

Beckman nodded once more. “We’ll work out the details closer to Miss Adderly’s due date.”

With that, the conversation was over.

Riah looked at him, bemused. “Why am I worried that went so easily?”

It was a good question, but Casey had no answer for her. He considered her question, though, as they ate breakfast and waited for Bartowski so they could make their way to the Buy More and another day of retail hell.

The last thing Casey wanted to admit, he thought, as he watched Riah at the Nerd Herd desk that morning, was that there were any number of things he ought to tell her that could derail their lives. Then he reminded himself that their lives were unlikely to ever follow a smooth path.


	27. Chapter 27

To Casey’s relief, Sandra Kirkwood’s bosses were easily convinced she could be an asset in their Finland bureau. He was fairly certain both his boss and V. H. Adderly had put pressure on the network and on their local station to sideline her somewhere other than Los Angeles.

Despite having solved the Kirkwood problem, life wasn’t quite as quiet as it had been, and it made Casey uneasy as hell. Even Walker was getting a little twitchy. They both invested a lot of time trying to figure out who and what the Ring were, but neither had much success. Bartowski still flashed, they still dealt with the bad guys.

In the meantime, wedding plans were beginning to make Casey crazy.

Casey braced himself every time Riah went shopping. Her mother was pushing her hard to find a wedding dress, and he had to give Riah credit for trying. She spent nearly every day she had off shopping, but each time she came home empty-handed and more depressed.

When Ariel turned up for Riah’s birthday, she dragged her daughter out to find a dress. Riah came home furious and ready to murder her mother. Casey carefully considered the need for body armor when V. H. had turned up as well. Seated next to Riah across from her parents at a restaurant, Casey refused to let her mother talk about the wedding because Riah was still mad about the shopping excursion earlier in the day. It wasn’t easy, but he might now owe V. H. since every time Ariel attempted to raise the issue, her ex either said something that distracted her in unpleasant ways or simply picked a fight.

Unfortunately, the armed verbal combat between her parents had Riah so tense she couldn’t unwind, even after they declared a truce when they saw their daughter’s distress. Casey couldn’t exactly employ his usual tactics to get her to relax—at least not until they were home alone. Even then, the last thing he expected was for Riah to burst into tears before things got interesting. As he held her, hoped this was more about the hormone sea she swam in than anything he had done or hadn’t done, Casey considered offering to kill her parents for her.

When she finally finished crying, Riah told him mournfully, “I _hate_ birthdays.”

He couldn’t help the amused snort.

“Seriously,” she told him with a sniff and a thick swallow. “You just had a front row seat to how nearly every special occasion from my childhood was celebrated.”

Casey pulled her closer, kissed the top of her head.

“If it ever goes wrong between us,” she said quietly, a slight hitch to her voice, “promise me we won’t behave like that in front of our child.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to promise it wouldn’t go wrong, but Casey knew better than to do so. His line of work often led to mistrust and deceit, and that was assuming he continued to manage to stay alive—or she did. He agreed wholeheartedly with her, though. “Not that I think it’ll go wrong,” he said, “but I promise not to fight like that in front of our child.”

She lifted her head from his shoulder, studied him. “Even if it goes right, let’s not fight like that, John. God, I used to just want to run away every time they were in the same room with one another. Each time, all I could think was that at any moment the bickering would start, and then it would escalate to shouting. I guess I’m lucky they never hit one another. Threw stuff—usually things that wouldn’t do much damage, like my birthday cakes or Christmas dinner—but they didn’t hurt one another.”

“My parents always had their arguments outside,” Casey told her. “They weren’t shouters, and they didn’t throw things. There’d just be these low voices that carried but not enough to hear what was being said. Then they would come back in and pretend there had been no argument. Dad would drink the rest of the night, barely say a word, and Mom would just go ahead and do whatever needed doing.”

“That’s the first time you’ve mentioned your father,” Riah quietly pointed out.

Casey realized what he’d said and what it must sound like to her. He hadn’t told her anything but that his father was dead, he recalled. “Dad served in Vietnam,” he told her, “with Paul Patterson.” He could still see his father in his head, remembered how he had looked in his uniform when he left. He equally remembered the broken man who came back, who was never completely there afterward, who left the Corps and tried hard to be an insurance salesman, who tried hard to forget he’d ever served his country, but who, in the end, remembered every single minute of it and couldn’t cope. “He never quite forgave me for choosing the path he most despised,” Casey told her.

She propped herself on her elbows, studied him a moment and then leaned down to kiss him softly. “Surely he must have been proud of you, John.”

He lifted a hand, cradled her cheek and stroked the bone beneath her skin with his thumb. “No, Riah, he wasn’t.” She frowned, so he told her the short version. “I became the one thing he never wanted me to be, and I compounded my sin by not only liking it but by being good at it. He spent his life trying to forget who he’d been and what he’d done, and every time I came home, he was forced to remember.”

Funny that he’d never said any of that out loud before, Casey thought, as Riah lay back down beside him and wrapped herself around him. He might as well say the rest, he supposed. “I quit going home, after a while,” he told her. “Mom and my sisters came to visit me a few times, but I didn’t go home again until he died.” He ran a hand up her naked spine. “It was easier on all of us.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

It hadn’t really been, but he’d learned how to miss his family without being overtaken by the pain of it. Those missed holidays had made his absences easier for all of them, especially when he went to work for the NSA and often found himself thousands of miles from home with no hope of leaving his assignment for holidays or family milestones. It made walking away from those he loved a little easier, and Casey supposed that in most people’s eyes, that wasn’t exactly a good thing. “It was easier on me—probably on him, too.” He sighed. “It was easier on Mom not have to deal with the arguments and the aftermath.”

He rolled Riah gently on her back and kissed her. Then he opened his mouth over the tight mound of her stomach and whispered goodnight to the baby.

As he slid into sleep, he wondered what he’d do if his child chose a life he found hard to accept, one that challenged his beliefs. He hoped like hell he wouldn’t be like his father, hoped like hell he could find a way to accept whatever he or she chose to be, and hoped like hell they could find a way to not hurt each other or Riah in the process.

 

A few days later, two wedding dresses were delivered to their apartment. Riah let out an enraged growl when she opened the package. She sealed it back up, arranged to have it sent back, and then blistered her mother’s ears for about fifteen minutes before hanging up on her. Casey knew not to say a word, simply kissed her, offered to fix dinner.

It really shouldn’t have surprised him when Ariel called later. Riah had gone over to see Ellie after they ate, and when the landline rang, he expected the inevitable telemarketer. Instead, Ariel’s voice came through the handset. He was tempted to hang up on her as well. If he did, she’d simply call Riah, so he crushed the handset in his fist and gritted his teeth.

“Mariah needs to make some final decisions, Casey, and I need your help to get that done.”

He unclenched his jaw. “Riah needs you to ratchet down the pressure on her a little bit,” he told her softly. “In case you’ve forgotten, she and I are the ones getting married here, so if you want your dream wedding, find some moron stupid enough to marry you and have it.”

Undoubtedly, it had been the wrong thing to say, especially since they had been playing well together of late, but he’d always known that wouldn’t last.

“Listen, Casey—“

It was her turn to listen, so he cut her off. “No, Ariel, _you_ listen. Your daughter is afraid to say no to you, but I’m not. She’s miserable because you keep insisting on changes without asking if she wants those changes. We wanted simple, and you’re turning it into the kind of production that’s got her tied in knots and losing sleep.”

Silence stretched. Casey wondered what would happen when she finally found her voice.

“All she has to do is tell me to back off,” Ariel snapped out at last. “She hasn’t, and she won’t talk to me about arrangements.”

“Have you bothered to ask her rather than tell her?” he asked between tightly gritted teeth

“If she has other ideas, she only has to say,” Ariel returned, but Casey noticed there was less heat there.

“Would you even hear her if she did, Ariel?” He sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’ve heard her side of several conversations,” he reminded her tightly. “It always sounds like you just run right over her, talk until she gives in to what you want.”

“And you don’t?”

If she wanted to play juvenile, he could channel Morgan Grimes, but Casey wasn’t interested in toying with her. “No, Ariel, I don‘t. I listen to Riah, and I try not to railroad her.” When she didn’t respond, he remembered something else. “By the way, you and V. H. ought to think about her and how she feels before you do any more rounds in front of her. When we got home the other night, she was so miserable she cried.”

“Don’t be silly, Casey. Mariah doesn’t cry.”

“No,” he corrected, remembered her father telling him she hadn’t cried since she was a child, “Riah doesn’t let either of you see her cry. I’m counting, Ariel, and I can tell you exactly what you cost her every time you go into your mother-knows-best routine.”

“I don’t have to listen to this.”

“No,” he agreed, “you don’t. Nor does Riah have to listen to you. She’s thirty,  
Ariel, and more than capable of making her own decisions. If you don’t like the ones she makes, just shut the hell up. It’s her life, her wedding.”

Another silence stretched, and Casey wondered whehter he ought to be glad she hadn’t hung up on him. “Alright,” she finally said. “You’re right, I suppose.” Instead of getting another shot in at her capitulation, he waited to see if she would have anything else to say. He heard a hard sigh. Then Ariel said in a more even tone of voice, “Do you have any idea why she can’t choose a dress?”

“She’s worried that if she buys one now it won’t fit when we get married.”

Ariel sighed again. “I suppose it’s the damage to her back that’s making it so hard for her to find something.” Casey was incredulous, especially since he’d just given Ariel the reason for her daughter’s apparent indecision. “The current styles are almost all sleeveless and low-cut in the back.”

“She’s determined to cover them,” Casey agreed. There was no reason to argue and simply prolong all this—or convince Ariel to double down on simply choosing something for Riah.

“Do you think you could convince her to visit Martin Mandeville?” she asked.

Casey nearly asked who that was, but then he remembered—the designer from whom she’d bought that gold dress she wore to the gallery. “I can try,” he agreed gruffly.

“Martin owes me several favors,” she told him, “and he’ll work miracles for her.”

 

As it edged closer to their wedding date Casey had to admit that Ariel kept her word—for a while. She backed down, listened to her daughter, and let Riah make her own decisions regarding the wedding. Riah still couldn’t find a dress, but she still doggedly shopped for one.

He knew why this was so difficult for her, but he mostly held back the comments he was increasingly tempted to make. She’d made what Casey thought was a sensible decision—to delay buying something until she was close enough to the date that she was unlikely to have to have the dress altered or to have to buy something else entirely if her waistline expanded too much.

Of course, that was the other thing making her nuts. Lydia Pentangeli was worried about the fact that Riah wasn’t putting on enough weight. The truth was Riah ate well. She was paranoid about eating healthily, and while neither he nor her aunt could complain that she was eating empty crap, what she ate wasn’t putting very much weight on her. She was showing more, her body was ripening enough they had finally had to tell Big Mike, and she had had to start wearing looser clothes, some of which were actual maternity clothes. Nonetheless, Casey was worried about his wife.

Riah, for her part, was getting pissed off at his constant vigilance about her weight and her blood pressure.

Not that offering advice on dress shopping was any less a landmine. Casey finally suggested he go with her, which only made Riah snap at him that he could take her mother, but she wasn’t going shopping for her wedding dress with him in tow. He pointed out they were already married, so it didn’t really matter if he saw her dress before the wedding.

Part of her problem was the scars on her back—and it killed him to admit Ariel had that much right. Riah was once more obsessing over them. It was unlikely they would ever disappear entirely, but they didn’t look nearly as bad as they had when he first saw them. Admittedly, a backless dress would expose them, but her hair was long enough to cover them, so he didn’t see that as a significant problem. When he said so, though, Riah had narrowed her eyes and told him, “Formal dress, formal hair.”

If that meant something in girl-speak, he didn’t know what. Casey hadn’t learned that one growing up with his sisters, so he wasn’t entirely sure what it meant. When he finally asked—after hearing it for the sixth or seventh time—Riah had explained that with a formal wedding dress, she had to wear formal hair, which meant wearing it up. Casey wisely said nothing further, though he was tempted to point out that unbound hair was the norm long ago. He suspected he’d get a lecture on feminism, women as property, and virgin brides if he said so. Casey thought the “formal dress, formal hair” rule was a stupid rule, but he resigned himself to watching Riah torture herself.

Ellie tried to help as well, but Riah didn’t want her to go shopping with her, either. Casey understood that. She would have to explain why certain designs were off limits, and Riah knew as he did that Ellie might recognize what caused those scars if she saw them. Riah couldn’t tell her the truth without exposing what she was. His suggestion that she invite Emma out to visit fell on deaf ears.

There was a vicious argument one night when Casey made the apparent mistake of asking if she’d found a dress over dinner. Riah’s face had flushed, and her jaw clenched. Then she burst into tears. He suspected those tears were likely due more to her pregnancy than her inability to find a wedding dress. They retread the same ground they always did. Impatient with her failure to make a decision, he finally told her to just pick one—surely a dress was just a dress.

Riah’s eyes were angry slits when she shot right back, "All you have to do is dig out your uniform, John, so just shut the fuck up.”

“Just buy something that fits,” he snapped back. “Does it really matter what you’re wearing?”

He realized he really should have more carefully considered the possible ramifications of that before he said it: “Only a man would say something that stupid.” It wasn’t a characteristic response from her, so he knew this was a much touchier subject than he thought. Casey blamed Ariel for that.

“Wear what you wore the first time,” he told her. He liked that dress.

“You insisted on white for this,” Riah ground out, “and Mum’s made it formal, so it’s going to be goddamn white. Besides, my mother insists on white, too.”

Much as he hated being on the same side as Ariel, Casey had no argument for that. He wanted to see her in the white dress, but if it was going to make her this angry and this upset, then he was willing to surrender. Lydia was concerned about Riah’s stress level, and each time she came home without a dress, that level rose.

Truthfully, Casey suspected he was on the receiving end of Riah’s frustration over having to fight her mother every step of the way on the wedding. Ariel had begun insisting once more that Riah change things, and Riah sometimes reacted badly to that pressure. Casey thought she ought to just have the knock-down drag-out fight he suspected she’d have to have with Ariel before her mother backed off. He was about to try and placate her, despite being equally pissed off, when Riah shoved back her chair and slammed out of the apartment.

Casey sat there for a few moments, stunned that she had run away. It wasn’t really like her. He went after her, intent on finishing the argument. When he opened the door, though, Riah stood in the courtyard outside. She wasn’t far from their door, faced away from it with her arms folded over her stomach and her shoulders hunched forward. He hoped there weren’t going to be more tears. It was getting harder to deal with the emotional rollercoaster without causing her very real hurt or harm. He breathed in deeply, stepped out, and quietly closed the door.

She must have heard him since she looked over her shoulder at him. Casey stood in front of the door and studied her. The anger left him as he took in her miserable face. This apparently went deeper than not being able to find a dress. He wondered if it went deeper than dealing with Ariel the Perfectionist. “Riah,” he began.

“I wish we could just tell everyone we’re already married and be done with it,” she said in a quiet rush.

He snorted and reached for her, pulled her back inside. Determined to make her relax if nothing else, Casey drew her close. “I wouldn’t mind,” he agreed, “but you have to be the one to tell our mothers.”

Her face went ghostly pale. “Not on your life,” she said faintly. “Couldn’t you just kill them?”

“I love my mother,” he said with a laugh, knew Riah didn’t really mean it. “I thought you loved yours.”

She wound her arms around his waist and leaned her cheek against his chest, her ear over his heart. “Some heartless assassin you are,” Riah grumbled.

That made him smile. Of course it wouldn’t do his reputation much good if it got out that he loved his mother—might even prove dangerous for her—but Casey did. He felt Riah sigh. “I can’t take much more of this,” she told him. “It seems like every time I turn around, there’s something else to decide or something else has gone wrong or something else has to be changed.” She snuggled closer to him. “Let’s just have a big party and tell everyone we got married without them.”

Casey tipped her face up, studied her troubled expression. “If it bothers you this badly, just let your mother have her way.”

Riah scowled at him. “It’s our wedding, not hers.”

He cocked a brow. He’d told Ariel that, but it had only made her back off for a brief time. Perhaps Riah could have better luck. “Then tell her that.” Casey would never understand why she had so much trouble standing up to her mother. Ariel was hell on wheels, admittedly, but she loved her daughter, and after his own conversation with Ariel, he was pretty sure that if Riah simply asserted herself, her mother would back down. He leaned down and kissed her. “Meanwhile, I’ll take over part of the list.” He paused, considered, and then offered, “Or I’ll give you a gun if you think it will help.”

That made her laugh, and since that was what he intended, Casey was pleased. He wasn’t sure what he would have done had Riah taken him up on the offer. Maybe he would have offered to shoot Ariel after all. Then again, he might enjoy at least threatening his mother-in-law. “I don’t think it will help at all,” Riah confessed. “You’ve met my mother.”

He grunted agreement then let her go long enough to lead her to the couch. Casey sat, pulled her into his lap. “Riah, I know this is making you crazy, but I want to stand in front of our families and our friends and claim you.” He did, too, which surprised him a little. He would have preferred it just be family and a handful of friends, but he could live with a little bit of pageantry. What he didn’t like was how unhappy it was making Riah. Perhaps he should have another talk with Ariel. He decided to feel Riah out, see if she really wanted him to put a stop to this, force her mother to scale back. “Maybe we shouldn’t have given in to your mother about having a big wedding, but I didn’t want you to feel cheated out of that.”

That had been one of their first arguments over their wedding, when he had agreed with her mother on expanding the number of wedding guests over Riah’s objections. She pulled him down, kissed him; he wondered why. “I don’t mind the big wedding, but if we had insisted on a small wedding, I wouldn’t have felt cheated. Truthfully, I far prefer the first one when it was just the two of us.”

So did he, but Casey wasn’t going to tell her that and give her something else to obsess over. As he did more often than not when he held her, Casey slid his hand over her abdomen. She was a little over four months along, and he knew part of her anxiety stemmed from the fact that when they had their wedding, she would be approximately five months along. He suspected it wasn’t just the pregnancy that was causing her problems with the dress, though. It probably wasn’t even that the current styles would expose her back. “You’ve never seemed to care much about clothes before, Riah, so what’s really bothering you?”

“I don’t want to embarrass you, John,” she said thickly.

Casey folded her closer, tucked her head against his shoulder. He thought he’d made it more than clear her pregnancy didn’t cause him embarrassment, but apparently not. “I don’t think you could ever embarrass me, Riah,” he assured her. “It’s not like you got yourself pregnant. As you said the night we found out, we’re both in this, and I’m more than happy to stand beside you, even if you were at the end instead of the middle of the pregnancy.” She kissed him. Apparently, Casey’s reassurance helped since she relaxed a little. He considered how to get Riah to fully relax. “Think of it as obvious proof I’m a man,” he teased.

She snorted as a mean little smile tipped her lips. “So having your bride visibly pregnant is good because it shows you’re a real man?”

“Works for me,” he said with a brief flash of a grin. Casey sobered and returned to her usual complaint about finding a gown, hoped he didn’t set her off again. “I’ve told you before that I doubt anyone will notice your back. Won’t the veil cover it?”

“I won’t wear it the entire time,” Riah reminded him, “and before you tell me again, I’m not leaving my hair down.” Casey could hear her unsaid _formal dress, formal hair_. “The problem is that every dress I find that covers my back is ugly.”

“Make your mother happy and let her help you find something to wear,” he suggested. Ariel, he knew, would throw herself wholeheartedly into the task, and once the dress was bought, Riah could relax.

“I’ll wind up looking like a meringue.” Riah narrowed her eyes at him, silently dared him to say something or laugh at that. Casey really wanted to laugh at the image that created, but he kept his stone-face in place. She sighed. “Mum likes the big skirts with the huge crinoline. I don’t want that.”

Now, he thought, they might finally be getting to what really bothered her. “What do you want?”

Riah eyed him. “If it weren’t for my back,” she said, “I’d go for one of those strapless low-backed dresses with the cathedral train, but I can’t.” Casey wouldn’t mind seeing her in something like that, was about to say so, but she gave him her own glare, so he said nothing. “Honestly, though, I always wanted Julie Andrews’s dress from _The Sound of Music_.”

That surprised him. Casey took a moment, pictured it, but he had to admit that despite the fact it would cover enough of her that it would likely to keep Paul Patterson from drooling, it had pretty clearly outlined Julie Andrew’s figure. On the other hand, it did violate his only requirement since when he’d seen the movie on television, remembered it as being a silvery gray. “It isn’t white.”

Her lips twitched. “Does it really matter?”

“It does to me,” he growled.

“John, I’ll be going down the aisle five months pregnant,” she reminded him. “I don’t think white is the most important part of the equation.”

It probably wasn’t, but he wanted to see her in a more traditional wedding gown. He remembered then what he’d promised Ariel. “Doesn’t your mother have some dress designer friend out here somewhere?”

Riah nodded. “She’s already suggested I just talk to Martin.”

“So tell him you want _The Sound of Music_ dress and see what he can do.”

Covering his hand on her swelling abdomen, Riah shoot her head. “You really need to see the movie again,” she told him with a wry grimace. “It works on Julie Andrews because she’s thin. I’ve got a bump. The lines won’t work on me. It’ll just maximize the girth.” Casey opened his mouth to object, but Riah stopped him by giving him a hard stare and pointing a finger at him. “And don’t you dare say something cavemanish like I look good like this or that it ups your he-man cred, or I will go down the aisle with a big pillow up the front of my dress while barefoot.”

As threats went, it made his sometimes perverse sense of humor kick in, but Riah backed it up with an even harder stare before Casey could make the obvious joke that barefoot and pregnant was as she should be, so he held it back. He wasn’t going near her slightly expanded size. He liked it, liked thinking about how she came to be that way, but Riah was hypersensitive to it.

“I’ll find something. If I can’t, I’ll call Mum and surrender.”

He pulled her astride him and pulled her close. “I really could care less what you wear, Riah, as long as it’s white. It isn’t about the dress, no matter what your mother says, and it isn’t about how you look. It’s about I love you, and I plan to make sure everyone we know knows that, too.”

Leaning toward him, she slid her arms around his neck. “It is about how I look, John. That’s how I’ll be judged, right or wrong. I don’t want to reflect badly on you.”

“I don’t think you could ever reflect badly on me,” he assured her.

Riah didn’t smile as he’d hoped. She did, though, kiss him rather thoroughly. Just as Casey began to get ideas, she asked, “Have you chosen a best man yet?”

It was possible she was getting a little revenge by zeroing in on his own indecision, but Casey had a clear conscience there. “Bartowski,” he grumbled.

“Not Paul?”

Casey wasn’t at all sure how to explain his choice. He and Paul Patterson were friends, but Patterson was his superior officer and had been a surrogate father. That latter made choosing him a little awkward. Choosing Bartowski, on the other hand, had just felt right. Casey was loath to call the kid his friend, but he supposed there was an element of that there. Paul Patterson would serve as his groomsman.

Riah smiled and raised her brows. “Promise me he won’t throw you a bachelor’s party like the one they threw Devon.”

“Thanks,” he said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “I had finally just about wiped that out of my memory.” Casey really didn’t want to think about that night—even the part with the 49b in the skimpy cop suit. Especially not about Agent Forest doing the dominatrix pole dancer routine. “I told him I didn’t want one.”

Linking her hands behind his neck, Riah met his eyes. “Have one, John, just not at the Buy More, and don’t let Jeff be in charge of entertainment.”

His groan was pained, and she laughed. She’d seen the pictures, after all, and that was a whole other part of the night he’d like to permanently erase from his brain. “He’ll invite Grimes, probably Woodcomb, and I’d far rather just have a quiet night with some good scotch and good cigars.” Casey cocked his head. “I assume Emma’s plotting on your behalf?”

Riah shook her head. “We agreed on a baby shower later.”

“At the risk of pissing you off again,” he said, “we have to do something about buying you a wedding ring.”

Her brows rose. “What about you?”

Casey wasn’t known for sentimentality, so he could feel the heat ride his skin. “If it’s alright with you, I’d just as soon we used the one you already bought me.”

“Something simple will make me happy, John.” She gave him a mischievous look before she added, “I promise not to pay the bill this time.”

He growled and rolled her onto the couch. He’d gotten over that, but it still irked him. He let her pull him down and kiss him before suggesting they finish dinner.

 

With three weeks to go before the wedding, Riah finally gave in and went to see the designer. Casey, meanwhile, paid a visit to Tiffany’s in Beverly Hills. He took a printout showing her engagement ring from the company’s website, and when he finally got the attention of the snooty bastard behind the counter, Casey handed the man the sheet and said, “I bought this for my fiancée, and now I need a wedding band to go with it.”

All of a sudden, the man was considerably nicer.

When Casey left with the distinctive blue-green box tied with a white ribbon, it held what the salesman had called a platinum band with channel set diamonds. The diamonds were emerald cut and ran the entire circumference of the ring. Casey was also nearly ten thousand dollars in debt, but he didn’t mind. He stashed the box when he arrived home. Not long afterward, Riah turned up. From her smile, he figured she’d finally found her dress. She confirmed that, told him it was exactly what she wanted and Mandeville promised to deliver it on time despite the short notice. All Casey cared was that there was now one less thing to make her crazy.

Unfortunately, the things that would make him crazy before this was done were only just beginning.


	28. Chapter 28

It started with Ariel arriving to devote herself to seeing that the trains ran on time. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t Mussolini, but she managed to give the impression nonetheless. Casey endured hours of trying to make nice with her primarily to prevent her from further browbeating Riah. He wasn’t sure whether he was happy or disappointed that they both managed to tolerate one another without fireworks.

The first major snafu involved Riah’s childhood friend whom she wanted to marry them this time. Neither Casey nor Riah were members of a local church, so when she approached the Episcopal diocese to see if they would grant permission for Peter Whatley to marry them, the bishop initially refused. Whatley had told her he would have to have that permission, but the diocese balked—more than once. In part it was because neither Casey nor Riah were Episcopalian, and in part it was because Whatley technically wasn’t either. A further wrinkle arose when Whatley’s bishop discovered the wedding wouldn’t be conducted in a church, especially since Casey and Riah’s reasons didn’t fall under church guidelines that would allow a wedding outside a church building.

Walker came to their rescue with the local bishop. She paid the man a visit, flashed her badge, and explained the supposed circumstances in a way that had the man rapidly scrawling his signature on the appropriate form. Casey wasn’t at all sure he wanted to know what that explanation might have entailed, and he didn’t ask. Walker didn’t offer, either. She had simply handed over the completed forms with one of those sharp smiles of hers.

V. H. took care of Whatley’s bishop by explaining that security issues could be better controlled at the hotel where there were cameras and guests could more easily be screened and tracked. When that hadn’t swayed the man, V. H. had apparently pointed out that it might be better to ruin a hotel than a church if violence or other mayhem were to occur. Casey was certain his own penchant for said violence and mayhem had been described with relish by Riah’s father.

Those hurdles cleared, though, they next learned there was a marriage preparation course requirement.

Before Casey could say hell no, Riah, after a number of attempts to get them out of it, finally explained to Whatley that they were already married. The vicar found a way to get them around it, but then he sent Riah paperwork Casey needed his priest to complete. Apparently the man’s bishop was engaging in passive-aggressive behavior over their marriage. Casey couldn’t remember the last time he’d been a member of a church, so he called his mother to see if she could find out if he was still a member of the one in his hometown. She hadn’t been amused, but he sent her a fax number and she then made sure the priest sent the completed forms to Whatley’s bishop.

Riah, damn it, had laughed.

In a moment of pettiness, Casey groused that Canadians had too many damn impediments to marriage.

As long as nothing else came up, they were cleared for the wedding with a little over a week to spare.

Several days before the wedding, Bartowski, Grimes, and Woodcomb gave him his quiet evening as a bachelor’s party after Casey put his foot down about the acceptable parameters of said evening, and Casey was happy enough to spend a few hours with a good steak, excellent scotch and a very good cigar. The company wasn’t bad, either, to his surprise. Grimes might be nearly thirty chronologically and twelve mentally, but outside his normal environment, it turned out he could at least pass for a sentient human instead of an overeager puppy. Woodcomb, though, occasionally dispensed marital advice that alternately amused Casey or made him want to punch him. He survived it without resorting to sarcasm or violence.

When he went home afterward, though, Riah teased him about strippers. After Casey assured her there had been none, she had taken him upstairs and provided him with a very private show.

As he watched her remove her clothes in a manner that bordered on the obscene—not to mention a few garments that definitely crossed the line of decency—he couldn’t imagine enjoying watching a stranger do this more than he did watching her. There was no question, he thought when she was naked and her mouth explored him, that he was a very, very lucky man.

Whoever had taught his wife to do that deserved a commendation.

Then he decided that anyone who had seen her do that needed to be murdered.

He hadn’t told Riah yet that her father had called that morning to explain that after their rehearsal dinner, he and Paul Patterson planned to give Casey what V. H. termed “fatherly advice.” It had sounded more like a threat than an evening with old friends to Casey, but since Riah would be in a hotel suite with her mother and sister that night, he might as well endure a night of whatever V. H. intended to say to him. After all, the other man couldn’t keep Casey from marrying his daughter.

His mother arrived the Tuesday before the wedding. He and Riah both offered her Riah’s old room. His mother told him that she and Ariel had a lot to do, so she was staying with Riah’s mother. Why that alarmed him, Casey was never sure, but it soon became clear the two women got along, and at least his mother’s presence alleviated the pressure Ariel put on Riah when he was absent.

They applied for their marriage license on Wednesday. Riah had a difficult time not laughing when this time they applied for a regular license, though she had paled as she reached the part that asked if she had been married before. He quietly told her to admit it, as he did, but then they had to explain to the baffled clerk several times why they wanted a second license when they were already married. Finally, Casey asked if there was any law that said they couldn’t, and when the woman admitted that she was unaware of one, they got their license. He’d only insisted on doing this to keep from having to explain they were already married. Despite the jokes, Casey was damned sure neither of their mothers would ever forgive them.

Several of the Buy Morons had dropped hints about invitations that Casey ignored. Family, friends, and colleagues comprised the list, and Casey didn’t class most of them in any of those categories. They’d invited Big Mike and Grimes, the latter over Casey’s objections, but that was all. Grimes intended to bring his new girlfriend, a Brenda Zielkowski who worked at Large Mart, so Casey had done a background check on her to make sure she wasn’t something she shouldn’t be. Grimes might have managed to score Anna Wu, who had ultimately left him, but Casey found it hard to believe the man-boy could get that lucky a second time. In part, though, he admitted he had become paranoid as Riah’s pregnancy became more obvious and known, and Casey had no intention of letting anything happen to her. Although Walker had run most of the background checks on guests for him, he personally followed up on anyone who still seemed questionable.

His sister Julie flew in Thursday. It didn’t take Casey long to notice something seemed off. He took her to dinner that evening since she refused Riah’s invitation to go with her and Ellie to Ariel’s house. Julie wasn’t herself, though, and he worried about her. She went through the motions of tormenting him, but her heart didn’t really seem to be in it since she didn’t really engage when he hit back. Curious, Casey finally flat-out asked what was wrong with her.

“My date fell through,” she said.

She’d been dating some guy named Dan whom no one in the family had met yet. There was something in the way Julie said it that put him on point. When they had been served, he asked, “So what did the moron do?”

Julie didn’t laugh, but she looked like she might cry. She also didn’t answer.

“I’m going to have to go shoot him, aren’t I?” Casey prodded, though that made him remember and empathize with V. H.’s own threat to him.

“Dan didn’t do anything, Johnny—I did.”

He waited, watched her. Julie looked more miserable than he thought he’d ever seen her, and it dawned on him she must really love the idiot. “You going to tell me?” he prodded when she remained silent for longer than normal.

Her smile was watery. “No.” She picked up her wineglass. “I don’t think you’d understand at all, Johnny.”

“Try me,” he said when she set her glass down again. Casey had a feeling he’d more than understand, but he could understand her reticence. They had never really been confidants, after all, and both tended to use any intel the other let slip at opportune times.

There was a soft sigh as Julie rubbed her eyes. “I told Dena I didn’t want her to come with me to your wedding.”

_Dena?_

_Her?_

Casey sat back and stared at his youngest sister, who wouldn’t meet his eyes, went beet-red, then paled so much her face practically glowed in the dim light of the restaurant. His thoughts tumbled. Julie had a girlfriend? Then he ran through what he knew of her love life over the years and realized he should have known this long ago. It had been there all along—if he’d only paid attention.

“I take it you care about this Dena?” He had to work to make that question sound normal. Inside, he kept trying to reshape the reality of who his sister was around a lifetime of assumptions and to understand how he could have missed it for nearly thirty years.

The answer was painfully plain on his sister’s face, though Julie still didn’t look at him or answer. He recognized that pain, had a lot more than a passing familiarity with it, and in that moment he realized he didn’t give a damn who she loved. She was his sister, and he loved her, always would. Casey would simply have to adjust his idea of who Julie was—and he was definitely going to make sure this Dena, whoever she was, deserved her.

What he wasn’t willing to do was to let his sister fuck up her life the way he had repeatedly done his own. He knew exactly how fortunate he was that Riah had forgiven him for being an ass. For a minute, his lips twitched as he heard again her furious, _You defame four-legged beasts of burden._ What Casey had to do now was convince Julie to do what neither of them ever liked to do: apologize and mean it.

“You know, Julie,” he said quietly, stared at his own glass of wine a moment or two before he looked at her, “I can tell you from experience that if you really care for her, you need to make this right.”

That brought Julie’s eyes to his. “Really? Mr. Hardcore, Card-Carrying, Arch-Conservative is okay with his sister having a girlfriend?”

Every bitter word of that cut deeply. “Because you are my sister, Julie, and because I love you, I want you to be happy. If this Dena makes you happy, then that’s what matters.” Shock was clearly written on her face, so Casey was pretty sure she didn’t believe him. He waited for her inevitable dig about his telling her he loved her, something he very rarely said to anyone other than Riah and his mother. When Julie continued to just stare warily at him, he tried again. “Look,” he told her, held her gaze, “I lie about who I am every day. It’s part of my job, but it shouldn’t be part of your life. I honestly could care less who you love as long as you’re happy and whoever it is treats you well. Take it from me, Julie. If she’s the one, then fix whatever this is. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life alone.”

His sister stared at him like she’d never met him. She didn’t even try to hide her skepticism. “So you and your fiancée really won’t mind if your sister turns up with another woman as her date?”

That should have been plain, but since it wasn’t, Casey said it. “Invite this Dena as your date, Julie. As for Riah, she’s Canadian. She’d let you get married if you wanted.”

Her snort of amusement encouraged him, but then Julie paled again. “Mom,” she said quietly.

“You’re on your own with that one,” he told her, “though I suspect she might not object as much as you think.” After what his mother had said to him when he had confessed to her about Riah, he suspected she might not care as long as Julie was happy and Dena treated her well. He’d have a word with Jane Casey if she did object. He would appeal to her to keep the peace until after the wedding at the very least and hope she would recover from the shock and leave Julie alone. Julie obviously didn’t believe him. “When I told her about Riah, told her about the fact that we were living together and about the baby she lost, Mom took it in stride. She wanted me to be happy, and I suspect she’ll want the same for you.”

The next thing he knew, Casey had an armful of weeping sister. He awkwardly comforted her, all the while hoping that would stop immediately. It didn’t, and as he watched the restaurant’s other patrons, he gave them a look that dared any of them to do anything other than return to their meals and mind their own business.

When Julie finally settled into the occasional sniffle, she told him quietly about Dena Jones, how they had met at work when the other woman joined the staff at the same clinic where Julie worked as an accountant. Unlike Julie, Dena was a nurse, though. For the next half hour, Casey listened as his sister told him about falling for the woman. In his head, he recalled how Julie hadn’t dated in high school, had been focused on her studies. In college, she had dated, had given her family men’s names, though he was now fairly certain the reason none of them had ever met Julie’s boyfriends had been because none of them had been boys.

“So call her and invite her out,” he said when she finished. “And try not to fuck it up again.”

Julie shoved his shoulder and grinned. “Like you fucked it up with your Riah?”

“You have _no_ idea,” he assured her. After the waiter cleared their plates, after Casey ordered scotch and Julie asked for coffee, he told her just how spectacularly he had nearly ruined his relationship with Riah. “I was smart enough to grovel, though, so now it’s your turn.”

Later, when he replayed that conversation with Riah, she didn’t bat an eye. Instead, she asked, “Should I call Julie and make sure she knows I’m fine with her girlfriend?”

He’d known she wouldn’t question Julie’s choice, but it was nice to have it confirmed. Casey shook his head and then showed her his gratitude.

 

Their rehearsal was scheduled for the night before the wedding, but Casey and Riah had another appointment that morning. Actually, it made her more nervous than the wedding, but Casey looked forward to it. Riah’s aunt Lydia smiled when she came in the examination room where they waited and asked, “Have you two decided whether or not you want to know the baby’s sex?”

Riah looked up at Casey. They had talked about it but had never really come to a final decision. He shrugged. Riah kept her eyes on his as she said, “We want to know.”

Casey watched as Riah and Lydia lowered the waistband of her skirt and lifted the hem of her shirt to expose as much of her abdomen as possible. He watched Lydia put some gel on Riah’s belly and rub the ultrasound wand over her. Casey clutched Riah’s hand and sat beside her on the table, his eyes glued to the monitor. He could pick out the head, could see the limbs, and could see that the baby seemed to be sucking its thumb—or at least had a tiny hand near its mouth.

A funny thing happened to him then. Despite the changes in Riah’s body, despite his intellectual knowledge that Riah was pregnant, it absolutely had not been real to him until that moment, until he saw that grainy image, saw the baby move. He wondered if it hurt, wondered if Riah could feel it yet. Until then, it had been an abstract concept for him, but there was no denying what he looked at. Casey studied that image, looked for something, though he wasn’t entirely sure what. He caught Riah’s smile, leaned in and kissed her.

Lydia pointed with her free hand. “See here? It’s a girl.” He looked closer, noted a certain absence where Lydia pointed. Riah beamed, and Casey, who hadn’t really given a lot of thought to whether he’d want a son, found he was perfectly happy with the idea of a daughter.

The nurse handed Riah a washcloth when they were finished so she could wipe the gel off her stomach. Lydia had more to talk about when Riah had put her clothes back to rights, so Casey sat beside his wife while her aunt told them there was no guarantee the baby was a girl though the visual evidence indicated she was. Lydia talked about the importance of Riah continuing to eat well, the need for her to put on a bit more weight, and her concern over Riah’s lowering blood pressure. Casey began asking questions at that point, especially since he knew the more common problem was rising blood pressure. Lydia reassured him it was unlikely to remain a problem, that it would need monitoring, but he wasn’t convinced. Her aunt tried to explain to him that her niece’s blood pressure had always run on the low end of the scale, that her concern stemmed from the fact that unlike many pregnant women, Riah’s had dropped even lower rather than rising.

When they were finished, Lydia handed over a couple of photos from the ultrasound and said, “You’ve got a busy couple of days ahead of you, Mariah, but make sure you rest, okay?” When Riah agreed, she hugged her aunt and told her they would see her that evening.

Casey took his wife home, took her upstairs and pulled her down with him on their bed. He kissed her long and softly, and then he stroked a hand over her abdomen. “Elizabeth.”

She smiled. “No.” His brows shot up because he liked that name. “Almost every female in my family has that as a middle name—it’s my middle name—and I want something different for our daughter.” She frowned. “Emily?”

“Too close to Emma,” he told her. Riah agreed. Besides, he didn’t like the way Emily Casey sounded. “And no names beginning with J,” he insisted.

“Well, there goes Johna,” she shot back with a grin.

He growled at her, and Riah laughed. “I’m serious,” Casey told her. “My parents felt compelled to make sure we all had the same initials. No J’s.”

“I don’t want any of those trendy names,” she told him, and he wondered how she defined that. He didn’t have to wait long for the explanation. “I have trouble picturing girls named Hunter as old ladies.” Casey made a face and whined a little, but it was mainly for show. He liked a girl to have a girl’s name, though he didn’t explain that to her just then. Riah gave him a glare. “If you were seriously thinking of naming our daughter that, I may have to rethink marrying you.”

The smug bastard that tended to lurk just under the surface came out. “You already married me.”

Riah raised her brows. “I could divorce you.”

Casey laughed, certain she intended to do no such thing. “On what grounds?”

“Irrational name choices for our first born,” she shot back with a grin. “If I get a female judge, I’ll walk away with more than half of what you own for pain and suffering.”

He pulled her closer and snorted. “So if my name choices are so irrational, what are your choices?”

It wasn’t hard to see that Riah went blank a second before she considered his question. He knew she had spent the first three months of her pregnancy scared she would lose the baby any moment, and he knew that fear had made her distance herself a bit from getting too happy about being pregnant. Casey was in too good a mood to dwell on her fears. He intended to keep the mood light, so he grunted, as if she had just proved his point. He enjoyed her frown. “You weren’t serious about Hunter, were you?” Riah asked. A healthy layer of suspicion lay beneath her question.

He assured her he hadn’t been, but she eyed him, clearly checking his sincerity. Casey’s eyes danced, and he leaned in and kissed her nearly senseless before suggesting, “Reagan.”

“Really, Colonel?” Riah’s brows arched. “You seriously thought you could get that one past me?”

“What’s wrong with it?” he asked, unwilling to tell her yet that really had been a serious suggestion.

He waited while she thought about it. He liked the sound of Reagan Casey, and he figured he could manage to talk her into it since they were having a daughter instead of a son. There were a number of girls named Reagan these days—not a lot, but several. She told him she’d consider it if they dropped the first A. He categorically refused. “You’ll just call me a Communist again,” Riah warned, so Casey quirked a brow and waited for her explanation. She lifted a brow of her own and said she would only agree to Reagan if her middle name could be Trudeau in recognition of her Canadian heritage.

Casey was fairly certain Riah knew he wasn’t going to give in on that, so he watched her carefully as he responded, wondered what she would do when he rejected it. “No,” he said flatly before he leaned in and kissed her, then added, “You can’t give our daughter a Communist’s name.”

She laughed. “Pierre Trudeau was not a Communist.”

“Liberal,” he grunted. “Same thing.”

This time Riah pulled him down for a kiss, one with a very enticing spin to it, at that. “We have plenty of time to decide,” she whispered.

“I’m holding out for Reagan,” he murmured.

She smiled. “I’m willing to revisit Hunter if it keeps Reagan off the list.”

Casey’s fingers undid the buttons of her blouse, and he put his lips between her breasts. “I’ve given up on Hunter,” he told her. “Reagan.”

She moaned as his tongue began doing things to her nipple. “You’re cheating, Colonel.”

He took the time to remove a few of her clothes, taste her newly exposed skin. “No one said I couldn’t use physical persuasion,” Casey said when he nibbled his way down her belly. “If you had a name in the hat, I’d be happy to have you convince me any way you liked.”

His hands joined the act, then his body, and when Riah lay spent beneath him, her hands stroking over his skin, she murmured against his shoulder, “I think we need to establish some rules here.”

After he rolled to his side and studied her a moment, Casey kissed her. “Does that mean you aren’t persuaded yet?”

There was something he really liked about her smug smile. “You’re going to have to work harder than that to convince me, Colonel.”

“You could work with me here, Mrs. Casey,” he said against her mouth.

“I think I just did,” she countered. She pushed him onto his back and rolled on top of him. Casey threaded his hands though her hair and pulled her mouth to his. “Mmm,” she moaned, “it’s a shame we can’t continue our negotiations tonight.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Riah’s mother had insisted she couldn’t stay with him the night before they got married. Ariel was apparently taking the whole formal wedding thing seriously, and that meant Casey was not allowed to see Riah on their wedding day. Instead, she would spend the night in the suite where they would celebrate their wedding night without him. Personally, he thought it was stupid. They were already married, even if they were the only ones who knew it, but even if that were not the case, given Riah’s pregnancy and the fact that she and Casey had lived together for more than a year, he saw no reason they had to observe tradition. On the other hand, he knew it was less about tradition than her mother seeing it as a rare opportunity for mother/daughter bonding, and because that was something Riah had largely missed out on growing up, Casey wasn’t going to argue.

Over the course of the afternoon, it occurred to him, though, that he and Riah had spent a lot of time stealing moments before separations. One night was not, he supposed, a major separation, but he was used to having her in the bed with him most nights. She, for her part, seemed to be trying to make it up to him, or maybe he was trying to make it up to her. Whatever it was, they spent a lazy day in bed. They talked about the baby more, made outrageous suggestions about names, and made love.

They had to be at the hotel at six, and Casey found himself reluctant to get out of bed when the time came. Riah, too, seemed happy to stay where they were, but they got up, showered, and dressed. Casey took her suitcase from her and asked if she was sure she had everything. She assured him she did.

He rode the elevator with her to the suite where her mother let them in. “Your dress arrived this afternoon, Mariah, so, Casey, you don’t go any further than this room.” Ariel gave her daughter the once-over and said, “You look tired. I thought you were supposed to rest.”

Casey took the opportunity she queued up to blandly tell Ariel, “I saw to it personally that she spent the afternoon in bed.” He noticed Riah was hard pressed not to laugh at his pious expression.

Ariel wasn’t a bit fooled by his assurance. She snorted: “I’ll bet.”

Emma joined them as they headed downstairs. Riah’s father was waiting in the lobby, and so were Bartowski, Ellie, Paul Patterson, Sarah Walker, and Casey’s family. Woodcomb was still at work, but Ellie told them he hoped to make dinner at least.

While she had given in to a certain extent on her mother’s desire to have a large wedding, Riah had put her foot down about the size of the wedding party. As a result, Riah had Emma as her maid of honor and Ellie as a bridesmaid, and Casey had Bartowski and Paul Patterson. Riah had decided to forgo a flower girl and ring bearer, which didn’t bother Casey in the least, especially since he’d seen more than one wedding temporarily derailed by an errant ring bearer. When they reached the small ballroom where they would marry, he noticed the chairs had been set up and the decorations appeared to be mostly in place. Riah told him softly that the flowers would be brought in the next day.

Near the slightly raised dais where they would say their vows stood a man talking to someone who wore a hotel staff uniform. Casey figured he was Riah’s old friend, Peter Whatley. An ordinary looking man, the man grinned when he saw them, came forward and hugged Riah tightly. Casey noticed her warm smile and the tightness with which she returned the man’s hug. He reminded himself she was his wife, and the man she hugged was not a threat. It didn’t stop Casey from wanting to rip his arms off, though, admittedly, Whatley would be unable to hold the Bible while he married them if Casey did. She introduced them while he did his best to play nicely.

Whatley seated them and talked through what would happen during the ceremony. Casey listened carefully since the Canadian Anglican Church’s ceremony was a little different than those he was used to. Riah had mostly chosen the highly formal version of the service, though she had agreed to a few more modern options—that their families would affirm support for their marriage rather than her father give her away, and the word obey would not be part of the vows. Since Casey knew better than to expect her to obey him, he hadn’t insisted—though he’d been tempted to do so just to watch her argue. Neither wanted to write their own vows, preferred those of the service with that one change.

The vicar explained the order of service and the differences in liturgy. Then he had them walk through it. Riah walked in beside her father and joined Casey. Whatley talked them through the declarations, the parental affirmation, the vows, the points where Riah and Casey would join and release hands, and the places where prayers, readings and music would be. When he finished, Bartowski, asked, “What? No kiss the bride?”

Riah laughed and asked, “And why is it never kiss the groom?”

Whatley flashed her a quick grin and said, “I, apparently, mistakenly assumed everyone knew about that part.” He looked at Casey. “You can kiss her, or she can kiss you, or you can kiss each other.”

Casey knew an exploitable opportunity when he heard one, so his mouth was on hers before Whatley had finished that statement.

Paul Patterson tapped Casey on the shoulder and said, “If we’re kissing the bride, may I be next?”

“No,” he growled in response.

Whatley led them through the recessional, and then had them walk through it once more before he was satisfied everyone knew what to do.

Ariel had reserved a room at an exclusive restaurant. They were joined by Lydia Pentangeli and Woodcomb there. The food was good, her parents were on their best behavior, and, to Casey’s relief, everyone played well together. Julie had apparently managed to break her news to their mother and the rest of the family since she was accompanied by a stunning brunette with dark brown eyes she introduced as Dena Jones. Casey did his best to make her welcome, and so did Riah.

By the end of dinner, Riah looked exhausted. Casey felt guilty for having kept her occupied all afternoon. He looked closer at her while the others talked, and he realized she didn’t look like she felt well. It was obvious she tried to hide it, so rather than call attention to her by asking, he leaned in to whisper, “We could leave them here, and I could take you to the hotel.”

His guilt grew stronger when she whispered miserably, “I want to go home—with you.”

“Twenty-four hours, Riah,” he reminded her softly.

She met his eyes. “I have this terrible feeling something is going to happen, and you’re going to run off with Walker and Chuck, guns in hand, and I’m going to be left at the altar.”

He bent again for a slow, persuasive kiss. “Good thing we’re already married, then, isn’t it?” She frowned at his joke. “Your father would shoot me if I left you at the altar.”

Riah hitched up a brow and smiled slightly. “My mother will shoot you if you ruin her wedding that way.”

Discretion, he decided, was the better part of valor, so he ignored her statement. “I’m off-duty.” He took her hand. “No national security emergencies, Riah. I promise.”

“Not even if Chuck flashes?”

Casey lifted her hand and kissed it. “Not even then.”

It wasn’t hard to see she didn’t believe him for a minute, but she said nothing.

At least Ariel let Casey drive Riah back to the hotel, and he was relieved they were alone for the short trip. He pulled her hand onto his thigh and held it as he drove. As he turned into the hotel parking lot, Riah sighed. She released her seatbelt when he killed the engine. He caught her hand again and reminded her, “It’s only for tonight, Riah.” After he came around and opened the door for her, they walked inside with his hand in the small of her back. Her father and Paul Patterson were seated in the lobby. Riah shot a look at Casey. “I’m going to be getting fatherly advice,” he said tersely, and he made it sound like a trip to a dentist.

That simply made her laugh.

He walked her to the elevators and pushed the call button before he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. “Don’t drink too much scotch,” she said and kissed him back.

“Get some sleep,” Casey countered and kissed her again.

“Maybe I should tell Dad he’s not allowed to shoot you,” Riah said and reached up to kiss him once more.

“If the two of you don’t quit that,” her father’s voice cut in, “your mother will shoot the both of you. I’ll provide the gun.” Riah laughed again when Casey scowled at V. H. “Unhand my daughter, Casey.”

He removed his arms from around her as her father stepped up to hug her. “Don’t let your mother bully you too much,” V.H. told her and kissed her cheek. “Now, say goodnight to Casey and actually get on an elevator before your mother calls me again and demands to know where you are.”

Unable to resist, Casey put his arms around her once more and kissed her as thoroughly as he dared in a public place. Riah, apparently aware that he was only doing it to annoy her father, kissed him back in ways that gave Casey ideas. He nearly decided he was taking her home anyway. He didn’t even hear the elevator ding or the doors open, and it wasn’t until her father cleared his throat and told them that that was more than enough—unless Casey wanted to get them arrested for public indecency. Casey finished what he was doing and lifted his head while her father held the elevator. She looked up at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” Casey promised and eased her inside the elevator car. Her father let the door close.

Casey sent her a quick text, told her he loved her, and then pocketed his phone and walked back to where V. H. and Paul Patterson waited for him, a slight smile curving his lips. In truth, he’d far rather be going home with Riah—or even upstairs with her—but as he had told her, it was only a further twenty-four hours.

They adjourned to the bar where they took a table on the terrace. It took a few minutes to order since they had different preferences for how they drank their scotch, but when they each had a glass in front of them, V. H. began with, “Well, at least I can rest tonight knowing that for one evening you’re not molesting my daughter.”

“I don’t molest your daughter,” Casey ground out over Paul Patterson’s snort of amusement. He gave his father-in-law a steely stare. He knew Adderly was just winding him up, but that particular charge had worn very thin.

Adderly picked up his glass. “Then explain how she got pregnant.”

In retaliation, Casey carefully timed his response so that he deadpanned, “Your daughter molests me,” when the other man had a mouthful of scotch. He found the sound of Adderly choking on the liquor and then coughing once the other man had choked it down quite satisfying.

Paul Patterson snorted once more. “You do have a history of pretty young women molesting you.”

If the General was trying to give him an assist, it wasn’t much of one. Adderly shot Patterson a puzzled look, and to Casey’s dismay, his former commander began rattling off several of his transgressions as a young second lieutenant, starting with getting caught with the mayor’s eighteen-year-old daughter in the man’s own bed and culminating with the one that had nearly ended his career before it really began—the married redhead who neglected to tell him she had a husband. That husband started a bar brawl Casey finished after the man found his wife in Casey’s lap with her hands down his pants. Casey had nearly killed a sheriff’s deputy who interfered, and only Paul Patterson’s intervention had kept him from a court martial.

To his surprise, Adderly just laughed at the end of Paul’s recitation. “He hasn’t changed much,” V. H. assured the other man. He then regaled Paul with several of Casey’s exploits since then. The list featured some of the more embarrassing episodes of his professional life, including at least two Casey was unaware Adderly even knew about. He finished with Carina in Prague. Casey supposed he should be thankful his father-in-law apparently didn’t know about his second encounter with Carina. It was bad enough Riah did.

The General was amused and shook his head. “And you’re actually letting him marry your daughter?”

Casey gritted his teeth. “I have changed, Riah’s thirty years old, and he can’t stop her.”

Adderly turned to Paul then and heaved a melodramatic sigh. “Sadly, he’s convinced her he’s the only man for her, so there isn’t anything I can do to stop this nonsense—short of shooting him, that is. My daughter would never forgive me, though.”

Paul sighed, too. “I’m afraid you’re right,” he agreed mournfully. “She’s so dazzled by his good looks she can’t see there are better catches out there than young John here.”

Casey wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or flattered by the young, but he was irritated by the implication that Riah made a poor choice. “Riah knows exactly what she’s getting, but she married me anyway.”

Two pairs of eyes swiveled his way as Casey realized what he had just said. That made twice he had allowed himself to be goaded into admitting that he and Riah had already married, and since he hadn’t even finished his first drink, he couldn’t blame the scotch. He knew something was wrong, though, when Adderly just laughed. “What?” Casey barked.

It was there on Adderly’s face: the man knew. “I wondered if you would ever admit the two of you eloped a few months ago,” his father-in-law said with a grin. Casey didn’t think Riah would have told her father out of fear he’d say something to her mother. “Mariah didn’t tell me,” V. H. reassured him. “You really should be more observant, though. Vinton said neither of you of even noticed him in the clerk’s office that day, and I know both of you know him.”

Casey thought hard. He hadn’t seen Frank Vinton, nor had Riah or she would have said something. “You had your daughter followed?” Riah would be mad as hell if she knew that.

“No, and I didn’t have you followed, either,” Adderly replied. He went on to explain Vinton was tailing the son of a New Brunswick senator. “The idiot was trying to do the same thing you and my daughter were, ironically, only his bride was a Latvian spy.”

Finishing his scotch, Casey signaled the approaching waitress. They ordered a second round. Paul picked up his fresh glass and asked, “You bring any of those good cigars with you?”

Casey grunted and reached in a pocket. He took a look around, but there were others smoking. Apparently this bar hadn’t gone over to the no-smoking Nazis yet. He handed one to Paul and offered one to Adderly who took it. He snipped the end off his own as the waitress brought an ashtray. When they had the cigars going, Paul asked, “When’s that pretty little girl of yours due?”

Adderly raised his brows and looked at Casey. “Mariah know he calls her that?”

He nodded. “Apparently, he’s _charming_ ,” he told his father-in-law acerbically. Paul snorted. “November,” he told the General.

Paul leaned back and drew on his cigar before raising his glass to Casey. “Let’s hope it’s the tenth.” Mariah’s father asked why, and Paul explained that was the Marine Corps’ birthday.

“You two started talking about names yet?” Adderly asked.

Casey swallowed a mouthful scotch. “Yeah.”

“Well?”

He shrugged. “We only found out this morning it’s going to be a girl. The negotiations have started.”

Paul’s brows shot up. “Negotiations?”

“Let’s just say Riah and I aren’t seeing eye-to-eye yet, but we have an interesting way of discussing it,” Casey said with a grin and drew on his cigar.

Adderly put his head down and moaned. “You’re going to molest her into getting your way, aren’t you?”

Casey and the General laughed at his misery. Casey was sure it was mostly feigned, but he liked getting his own back now and then. When Adderly looked up, Casey told him, “I’ve offered to let her seduce me into getting her way.”

“I’m going to need a lot more scotch to scrub the disgusting images in my head out,” V.H. grumbled then finished his drink.

“Your daughter will never forgive me if you have a hangover at her wedding,” Casey told him.

“You should have thought of that before you told me what you just did,” Adderly shot back and beckoned the waitress over. He ordered another round. Casey wasn’t going to do anything to stop him. As far as he was concerned, Adderly was a big boy, and if he wanted to disappoint his daughter, that was none of his business. When the waitress left, Adderly turned to him. “You’re not disappointed it isn’t a boy?”

Casey shook his head slowly, looked at his remaining scotch. Then he smiled. “As long as it’s healthy,” he began, but then he changed his mind about what he wanted to say. “Truthfully, the second I saw that fuzzy picture during the ultrasound, I didn’t give a damn what it was. I just . . . Well, I just wanted . . . .” He ground to a halt, tried to find the words to say what he had felt at that moment. “I just wanted her. I wished I could see her for real. She looked like she was sucking her thumb, and I wanted to hold her.” He sounded like some sort of moron, Casey thought, so he shut up.

It was soon clear he should have kept his mouth shut.

“Good Lord, John,” Paul said with a grin. “You are human after all.”

Casey shot him an angry glare.

“Mushy bastard,” Adderly agreed cheerfully, earning an angry glare of his own. “Must be the side of him Mariah fell in love with.”

He couldn’t stop the growl, but then he didn’t even try, really. The other two just grinned. Casey resisted the urge to say anything in his defense. It would only egg them on. Besides, he’d fallen in love with his daughter the second he had seen those grainy images of her moving within Riah’s womb. He hadn’t expected that. Maybe he was mushy, as Adderly had put it. He already knew he was soft where his wife was concerned, but he wasn’t admitting any weakness to either of the men with him.

“So if the two of you already got married, why are we having the shindig tomorrow?” the General asked.

Casey grimaced. “Because neither Riah nor I are brave enough to tell either of our mothers we denied them a wedding.”

“Good call,” Adderly said. “Ariel’s waited a lifetime to plan a wedding for one of her daughters. She’d never forgive Mariah for excluding her. Of course, Emma’s probably off the hook now if she wants to be.”

“That’s the little sister, right?” Paul asked. “Pretty little thing, like John’s Mariah.”

“When did you become a dirty old man?” Casey asked, feigned incredulity.

“I have an appreciation for pretty girls, John, like any man, and the two of them are definitely pretty girls,” the General said with a grin. “To paraphrase your girl, I may be old, but I’m neither blind nor dead.” He puffed on his cigar and watched Casey closely. “On the other hand, I really like your pretty little girl. If anything happens to you, I’ll be glad to see she’s taken care of.”

Adderly moaned again. “That’s _my_ little girl the two of you are drooling over.”

Casey grinned. “She’s _my_ wife. I get to drool over her.” He jabbed his cigar at Paul. “He, on the other hand, ought to know better.”

“Well, now, John,” Paul said, and lifted his glass, “the night I met your wife you weren’t exactly very attentive. She’s not only pretty, but she’s intelligent, well-spoken, well-mannered, dances well, and has excellent taste in movies and bourbon. I like a woman like that. Can’t blame me for trying when you were nowhere to be seen for most of the evening.”

“I was on the job,” Casey grunted. It was true, though it sounded like a lame excuse. He had mostly left Riah to her own devices that night, and she and the General had hit it off well enough it had caused a considerable amount of gossip.

“There’s evidence being on the job doesn’t prevent you from paying far too much attention to my daughter,” Adderly observed.

Casey gave him a glare. “ _Not. Helping_.”

His father-in-law ignored him to tell Paul, “I sent her to Banff. He,” Adderly jerked a thumb in Casey’s direction, “was supposed to be her backup.” V. H. eyed Casey then, shooting a brow up. “That means, since the NSA clearly didn’t teach you this, Casey, stay out of the way and let her work. Instead, the next thing I know, I’m being to1ld he’s decided to climb in her bed.”

He shook his head. V. H. knew damned well that was not what happened—or not exactly what happened—but Casey realized he could work with Adderly’s version. “Riah’s the one who decided we were sleeping together, and as I recall, you’re the one who told me to stick close to her.”

“Not that close,” Adderly said with a grin.

Casey cocked his head. “You’re the one who told the hospital I was her fiancé.”

“That wasn’t an invitation.”

Drawing deeply on his cigar, Casey eyed him. “Sounded like a good idea to me. Sue me.” He shot a look at his watch.

“Got somewhere to be,” Paul drawled.

He picked up his glass. “No.”

“We boring you?” Adderly asked.

Swallowing the last of his scotch, he set the glass back down. “Just wondered when you were going to quit complaining about the fact I gave in to your daughter when she seduced me and provide me with that fatherly advice you threatened me with.”

“Well, the first bit of advice is to quit letting blondes seduce you.”

Casey snorted at that. He noticed Paul did as well. “That would be you, not me. I’m a one-woman man.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Adderly said. “I would hate to have to shoot you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he growled, lifting his cigar again. “Get on a plane, shoot me, plan a funeral, comfort your daughter, pretend to be sorry I’m dead. What else you got?”

Adderly grinned. “So you _were_ listening.”

Casey quirked a brow. “It beat the alternative at the moment.”

Paul asked, “What was the alternative?”

“Naked French spy,” Adderly told him.

The General shook his head and lifted his cigar. “Female?” At Adderly’s nod, he sighed. “Boy, I can’t decide if that means you’re dumb as a box of rocks or pretty damned smart.”

“Considering he was already married to my daughter, I vote for option B.”

Paul and Adderly chinked their glasses and drank. Casey signaled the waitress. “Definitely option B. Not only did I not want him to shoot me, I really didn’t want to have my wife do it for him. It was bad enough when I got home and had to explain.”

Adderly’s brows shot up. “Care to elaborate on that?”

They ordered another round. When the waitress left, he said, “Your daughter damn near killed me as it was.” He left the angry sex out, but he described the argument and then lifted the cigar once more. “I never want to see her that mad again as long as I live.”

“She’s slow to anger, but when she blows,” her father said, “everyone needs to get out of her way.”

“Amen,” and Casey clinked his glass against Adderly’s. He finished his cigar and ground the stub out. “Riah apologized rather prettily, though.”

Paul’s brows shot up this time. “Let me get this straight. You were with another woman, a naked other woman, and when you got home and your wife finished ripping you a new one, _she’s_ the one who apologized?” He shook his head. “I may have to revise my opinion of your pretty little girl’s intelligence.”

Casey was irritated by that implied slur to Riah, and he was about to explain that he apologized first when Adderly looked at him. “Do I even want to know how she apologized?”

That, of course, required him to retrench. “With her mouth—on various parts of my body.” Sometimes, Casey reflected, the truth was a beautiful thing. For a second, it looked like her father was going to be ill, so Casey relented. “Actually, I had to do a lot of apologizing and some pretty earnest appeasement.” Adderly groaned. Casey continued, “After your daughter was finished ripping me to shreds, she made it up to me.”

“Never go to bed angry,” Paul said sagely.

“Well, that’s advice I could have used before I got home that night,” Casey told him. “She was already in bed and mad as hell. I didn’t stand a chance from the moment I crawled in with her.”

Casey declined another drink when the waitress stopped by, but Adderly and the General both ordered refills. “Afraid you can’t hold your liquor?” V. H. asked.

“Unwilling to risk having a hangover tomorrow,” he corrected. Then he gave his father-in-law a smug grin. “After all, I have a wedding night to attend.”

“Thanks for reminding me you’ll spend tomorrow night molesting my daughter.”

Casey sighed. They were right back where they started. “I don’t molest your daughter. We’ve covered this already.” The waitress gave him a startled look as she sat glasses of scotch in front of the other two men. He almost explained what she had just overheard but then decided there was no need. She set a glass of water in front of him. He hadn’t ordered it, but he appreciated the thought and thanked her.

When the girl had moved on again, Casey picked up with, “I love your daughter very much.”

Adderly sat back. “I know.” If the man knew, then why the hell did he needle him about his relationship with Riah? “She loves you, too, but that doesn’t mean you’re the sort of man I wanted for her.”

“Alright, but she’s old enough to make her own decisions. She chose me.” And that, Casey thought, as he picked up the glass of water, still amazed him. He could sympathize with his father-in-law’s point of view. Adderly knew the sorts of things he had done, had known him for more than twenty years, and even if Casey had generally been on the right side in what he did, he wouldn’t want his own daughter to marry a man who had done what he had.

He was also aware of how fortunate he was, how lucky that Riah knew and understood what he did—had done—and didn’t hold it against him. She had been on the receiving end of the kinds of things he had done to others, but it hadn’t turned her against him. She loved him. Him, not the man in the dossier her father had given her before sending her to Los Angeles, despite knowing he was that man in the dossier. She had done the job as well, maybe not the exact job he had done, but she had been a part of the world where men like him did what they did. It didn’t seem to bother her, though he didn’t know if that was because she was able to ignore what he had done or if that was because she understood the need for men like him.

Casey decided it was a good thing he’d switched to water.

Paul Patterson ground his own cigar out. “You’re a lucky man, John,” he said seriously. “As I told you once before, that little girl is head over heels in love with you. Remember to deserve that.”

V. H. observed the two of them. He lifted his glass. “What he said,” he seconded.

Casey sat back once more. “I intend to.”

They talked about many things over the next few hours. When the bar closed for the evening, V. H. said good night in the lobby. He was staying in the hotel while Casey and Paul Patterson were headed back to the apartment in Echo Park. Casey gave a few minutes’ thought to how he could get to Riah. It would be child’s play to find her room and find a way to enter. With his luck, though, Ariel would greet him with a loaded weapon. He resigned himself to going home alone. Not completely alone, he acknowledged, since Paul Patterson was staying in Riah’s old room.

After Casey drove them back to the apartment, Paul admitted he was tired and ready to turn in as they entered the courtyard. Casey spied Bartowski trying to get his attention. He let the General in the apartment, told him he’d be right back, and went to see what Chuck wanted now.

“You better not have flashed,” Casey ground out. “I promised Riah nothing would happen until after the wedding.”

“No flash,” Chuck said, but Casey heard a note in the kid’s voice that told him something had happened and he really wasn’t going to like what that something was.

“Spill,” Casey ordered.

“Morgan lost the ring.”


	29. Chapter 29

Emma was already in her pajamas, and her mother had changed as well when Mariah reached the suite where she would spend the night. She went into the largest bedroom and saw the dressmaker’s dummy that presumably had her dress on it. It was covered with what looked like muslin to protect it. She was tempted to uncover it and take a look, but she decided to wait until the following day. She didn’t want to make Martin Mandeville angry, after all, who was coming the next day to see that it fit properly.

Instead, she opened her suitcase, so she could change. Emma and her mother joined her. Emma plopped on the bed next to the open suitcase, and they talked through the schedule for the following day while Mariah did what she hadn’t done earlier—unpacked her things. She shook out the nightgown she had bought for her wedding night, though she actually doubted she would wear it at all. Mariah hoped hanging it up would let the wrinkles fall out. She was a bit bigger than she’d been when she bought it, so she probably should have just left it at home.

Her mother choked when Mariah slid the hanger inside the garment. “Good Lord, Mariah. Why bother?” Ariel Taylor asked faintly.

It wasn’t an unreasonable comment. The fabric was sheer, embroidered silk—not that the embroidery would hide anything—and the only closure was a single white silk ribbon that would tie just beneath Mariah’s breasts. The gown’s hem would barely clear her hips when she had it on. She gave her mother an impertinent smile, lifted her brows, and said, “Because my mother says I shouldn’t parade around naked.”

“I hate to break it to you,” Ariel shot right back, “but you might as well be naked if you intend to wear that.”

Mariah wasn’t sure what possessed her to say it, but she grinned and told her mother, “I’m pretty sure John will make sure I won’t have it on for very long.” Her mother looked uneasy, but Mariah didn’t much care. God knew her mother had said far more disturbing things in her presence when she was growing up. Her mother shrugged then left her to finish unpacking. Mariah continued unpacking. Once Emma left her, she changed into a more sedate red satin nightgown and its matching robe. Her mother had given it to her for Christmas several years ago. Mariah had never really worn it since it had always been too loose, but now it was pretty snug. She joined her mother in the sitting room.

“Your sister went to see your cousins. They just got in.” Ariel held out an arm to her. When Mariah sat, her mother pulled her against her as she had when she was a child. “Do you really love him, Mariah?”

“Yes, I do, Mum.”

“I can’t say you don’t know what you’re getting into,” Ariel said quietly. “You of all people know what his job is like, what can happen, but it still worries me.” Mariah said nothing. She didn’t want to argue with her mother, not tonight. “I loved your father, you know, but it wasn’t enough. The time came when he had to choose: me or the job. I lost. If I had been more mature, if I had been less selfish, I might have won, or at least that’s what I tell myself. The truth is that your father was more in love with the job than he ever was with me. I worry that Casey, more so than your father, will always choose the job. For Casey, it’s like he’s made a sacred promise.

“He did, Mum,” she said, thinking of the Marine oath. “I don’t hold that against him. He wouldn’t be who he is, who I love, if he were made differently.” She curled her feet underneath her. “Mum, I was never first with either you or Dad, and when I was little, I used to wonder what was wrong with me that neither of you loved me enough to stay with me.” She could feel the tears well, but Mariah hoped they would stop before they actually fell.

“Oh, Mariah.” She could hear tears in Ariel’s words, too. “We loved you. We were just young and stupid and, frankly, selfish. We were too busy building our careers to think about what we were doing to you.” She kissed the top of Mariah’s head. “When you were seven, when—“ Ariel swallowed thickly, but apparently she couldn’t finish because she moved on instead. “Mariah, last year in Ottawa, in the hospital, you said you never came first. You didn’t, it’s true, and that was our mistake. I don’t want you to marry a man who can’t put you first.”

“Mum, if anything, the way I grew up makes it easier to deal with those times when John can’t choose me.”

Her mother hugged her a little tighter. “That’s just it, Mariah. There should be no choice. You should always be first. I wasn’t with your father, and I came to resent that. He strayed, and I resented that more. It poisoned everything.”

“John puts me first when he can, Mum.” She thought about the way General Beckman had torn into him when he was late to a briefing because of one of her doctor’s appointments. She was afraid he’d lose his job if he wasn’t careful. When she told him so, he had assured her she didn’t need to worry.

“Then I’m glad for you,” her mother said. They sat there for a few moments, neither saying anything before her mother added, “There’s the other part of what he does that worries me, Mariah.” She said nothing in response, knew Ariel would say what she felt she had to whether Mariah responded or not. “It’s a business that changes men, and what Casey does changes them even more. I’m afraid that someday he will have to do something you can neither ignore nor forgive.”

A shiver ran down her spine. Mariah knew what her mother was getting at. John performed as an assassin at times despite the fact that the Americans had an executive order forbidding it. He also did his government’s bidding in other cases, cases where her father and her native government were on the opposite side from that of his government. Costa Gravas, came to mind. “Mum, I’m well aware that there are times when John will have to choose between me and our daughter and his duty. I’m also aware that some of the time he will have to choose his duty. I can live with that as long as we’re the ones he comes home to.” She lifted her head from her mother’s shoulder and looked Ariel in the eyes. “He loves me, Mum. I have absolutely no doubts about that.”

She also knew the kinds of things he had done in the past and the kinds of things he might have to do in the future. Mariah not only understood his duty but the necessity of doing it. She’d also seen enough of John to know that he had a moral compass that wasn’t completely rigid and that he didn’t always blindly follow orders. His inability to kill Chuck when ordered to was evidence of that, and his outright rebellion over leaving Stephen Bartowski to his fate had solidified her faith that there were lines he wouldn’t cross. Even Mariah had seen that Orion’s death would, in the long run, protect Chuck. That John could as well but couldn’t let it happen spoke volumes as far as she was concerned.

Her mother had a funny expression when Mariah looked up at her. “Daughter?”

Mariah smiled and nodded. “Lydia told us this morning.” Her mother hugged her hard. Mariah gave a little laugh. For once, her mother got to find out something related to her and John first. “You’re the first person I’ve told.”

Emma let herself back in the suite then. “What did I miss?”

Ariel said, “You’re going to have a niece.”

“So it’s a girl?” Emma asked and did a little dance when Mariah nodded. Then she sobered. “Is Casey disappointed?”

Mariah gave a little laugh. “I thought he would be, but, no, he seems pretty happy about having a daughter.”

Her sister launched into a series of questions about the baby and whether or not they had chosen a name yet. Mariah answered her indulgently, though her sister seemed surprised they hadn’t chosen a name yet. Mariah grinned and said, “We’ve ruled out Elizabeth, Emily, and Hunter.”

“What’s still on the table, then?” Emma asked.

“Trust me,” Mariah said fervently, “you don’t want to know.” Ariel frowned at her, but before her mother could start, she said, “We have four months to find a name we can both agree on.”

It was close to midnight when her mother sent her to bed. For a moment, Mariah felt like she was six again, but she was suddenly so tired she didn’t object. She seldom slept well in hotels, but she dropped right off.

 

\-------X-------

 

“Morgan lost the ring.” Chuck cringed and stooped into a protective position.

Casey was appalled. Riah’s wedding band had set him back a significant chunk of change since it was a channel-set diamond and platinum band from Tiffany’s. He concentrated to keep from strangling Bartowski. He tried to find his calm, though he thought he’d take anyone’s if it kept him from murdering his asset. When he thought he could keep his rage on a leash, he asked, “How did Grimes get it?”

“It’s kind of a funny story,” Bartowski began, that weird little edge of high-pitched whine creeping into his voice.

Sincerely doubting he would find it remotely funny, Casey interrupted Chuck to tell him the dollar amount it was going to cost Grimes to replace Riah’s ring before adding, “Assuming he gets to live.”

Bartowski looked ill. “You spent that much?” he squeaked.

“It matches her engagement ring,” Casey said. Chuck asked how much that had cost, and for a moment he thought the kid would faint when he realized Riah would walk around with nearly forty thousand dollars on her ring finger. “Now explain how Grimes got her ring.”

“They were in my room,” Chuck told him. “Morgan was looking at it. He thought Brenda should try it on.”

Casey closed his eyes. He tried counting, he tried breathing, he tried emptying his head, but in the end, his anger stayed stubbornly put. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He would not ask why Chuck had gone along with his childhood friend, figured he didn’t want to know, and Bartowski would take too long explaining. “And?”

“It got stuck.”

Riah had long, thin fingers. Brenda must not. Casey was furious that someone other than Riah had worn her ring. “And?” He repeated with more hostility when Bartowski didn’t continue.

“They went to Tiffany’s when they couldn’t get it off.”

At least they had gone to the professionals, he thought. “ _And?_ ” His voice grew angrier with each repetition.

“They suggested a hospital.”

This time he just bared his teeth and growled, furious. If some doctor had cut that ring off instead of cutting the girl’s finger off, Casey would have the moron’s medical license yanked. He’d have to give some extra-special thought to Grimes’s punishment.

“They were able to get the ring off—Ellie saw to it that the ring wasn’t damaged—“ Bartowski assured him, “but when they got back here, it wasn’t in Morgan’s pocket. He and Brenda are backtracking to find it.”

He should have continued to drink scotch at the hotel, Casey thought. He should have gone on one hell of a bender, so he wouldn’t feel homicidal. If he had, maybe V. H. would have let him stay there, maybe he could have stayed with Riah, and he would never have known any of this—assuming Riah’s wedding ring was found. Casey rushed Bartowski against the wall of the apartment the kid shared with his sister and her husband. He had his hands around Chuck’s throat, and it was all he could do not the squeeze the life out of him. “You had one job, Bartowski. Hold the rings and get them to the ceremony.” Casey lifted the kid by the throat and tapped his head against the wall. “I’m getting married tomorrow,” he growled with all the menace he could muster, “and my wife won’t have a wedding ring.” He punctuated that by tapping the kid’s head against the wall with each syllable.

Woodcomb came out the apartment door then. “Whoa, John!”

“Your idiot brother-in-law lost Riah’s wedding ring,” Casey ground out, keeping his eyes on Bartowski’s wide, terrified ones. Ellie’s husband was about to say something stupid, so he colored in the picture: “Her ten _thousand_ dollar diamond and platinum wedding band.”

For once, Ken Doll was stunned into silence.

Chuck’s hand came up, his finger raised.

“Use the words ‘point of order,’ Bartowski, and I swear I’ll break that finger off.”

The kid obviously regrouped as Casey eased his grip a little more. “To be fair, Casey, Morgan lost the ring.”

“You let him play with it, Chuck. That makes it your fault.” He leaned in, his face inches from the kid’s. “Tell me why I shouldn’t just shoot you, Grimes, too, when he finally shows up empty-handed.”

“You don’t know he’ll be empty-handed,” Bartowski said, and if Casey’s hands hadn’t reflexively tightened around his throat, Casey suspected there would have been a hint of a whine in that rather than the gargle of impending asphyxiation.

“It’s _Grimes_ ,” he gritted. He tilted his head and demanded softly. “One reason not to kill you right now, Bartowski.”

“Intersect,” Chuck choked.

“Not a reason,” Casey corrected. It was the only reason he hadn’t seriously hurt the other man, though, but Chuck didn’t need to know that.

He heard a noise behind him, and then Grimes was on his back, an arm ineffectively around his throat. Bartowski must have seen something because he clearly couldn’t decide whether his efforts were best spent talking Casey down or convincing Morgan to run. Casey decided for him. He released Bartowski and threw Grimes on the ground. The little bearded troll grunted as the air whooshed out of his lungs, and then he moaned. Casey wished he’d cried so he would have a head start on the humiliation he intended to mete out to Chuck’s best friend. He put his foot on Grimes’s throat and leaned in, put pressure on the boy’s neck. “You’d better have Riah’s ring if you ever want to breathe unassisted again.”

Morgan tried to use his hands to lift Casey’s foot off his throat. Casey added a little more of his weight.

Bartowski, as he always did, started a fast patter. “Casey! Casey!” At least he snatched his hand back before he actually touched him, Casey thought. “Let him up. He can’t answer if he can’t breathe.”

He knew that the minute he took his foot off Grimes’s neck, the kid would run. He might just use Bartowski as a human shield, but if he was truly cunning, he would simply take off. That was okay with Casey. He could run the weasel down and not even break a sweat. Grimes had no endurance, after all, probably wouldn’t even make the street before he was out of breath. If Casey was especially lucky, the kid would run in front of a bus and get squashed like the little worm he was.

“Riah’s ring,” he prompted and eased his weight off the kid’s neck enough to let him speak.

“Look, man, I’m sorry, okay?” Grimes gasped. “They took it off Brenda’s finger, and I put it in my pocket. Who knew I had a hole?”

He reached down and fisted his hands in Grimes’s shirt. “I’ll give you a matching hole.” He pulled the kid up so that he dangled from Casey’s grip. “That ring cost me ten grand.”

Morgan wheezed, went whiter than bathroom tile. “Ten grand?” he squeaked out.

Casey gave him a curt nod. “What am I supposed to do when I have no ring to put on my wife’s finger tomorrow?”

“Buy another?” Grimes suggested and squeezed his eyes tightly shut as if he expected a blow. Casey desperately wanted to give him one, wanted to beat the living hell out of the man-boy he dangled.

“With what?” he demanded. “You got ten grand to replace it?”

“No,” the boy said softly, “but I could probably afford a ten-carat gold band—one of the thin ones at Large Mart.”

“Her engagement ring is platinum, you fucking moron,” Casey snapped at him. The futility of getting anything from Grimes hit him. He dropped the kid and walked away. He’d call his credit card company in the morning. Maybe they could do something about a replacement. If not, maybe Riah would be entertained by using the gold bands they bought when they were married the first time. He’d have to find a way to replace what the idiot had lost at some point.

He walked past where Patterson sat on the sofa and headed straight to the kitchen. He didn’t even bother with a glass. There were several inches left in the bottle. He dropped into his recliner and pulled the cork from the scotch bottle’s neck. “Thought you were worried about a hangover,” the General said.

“Self-medication,” he said, and lifted the bottle. “Anesthesia.” He took a long pull.

Patterson’s brows shot up. “V. H. going to have to shoot you after all?”

Casey shook his head. “My best man’s best friend lost Riah’s wedding ring.” He took another pull. He should have hung on to it, should have waited until just before the ceremony to hand it over to Bartowski. Patterson, who’d seen it, looked horrified.

“Riah won’t care.” Casey’s shoulders dropped. “She doesn’t know what I bought. She probably thinks I’m giving her a plain band.” He swallowed a bit more scotch. _Ten. Thousand. Dollars._ Rounded, at least, not that it made much difference. It had probably been hocked by now. “I bought that ring because it matched her engagement ring.” He took another swallow of whisky. He’d go back to Tiffany’s as soon as they opened the next morning. It would have to be a platinum band this time, and he was, Casey realized, less pissed off than he was simply upset. He’d wanted the best for Riah, had bought the best, and now he’d have to give her something less. He finished the bottle then sagged into the chair, weary.

Patterson commiserated with him while Casey let the scotch swim with that he’d drunk at the hotel. He wished Riah was there, knew she would make it better somehow. There was a knock at the door. Casey wobbled a minute when he stood—too much scotch too quickly—and made his way to the door, his hand on the gun he still wore as he pushed the buttons on the panel to see who was there at this hour of the morning. To his surprise, it was Ellie Bartowski—Woodcomb, he corrected.

“Hi, John,” she said, her hands doing that nervous sort of twisty thing she did sometimes. “Listen, I don’t know if Chuck told you, but Morgan—“

“I heard,” he cut her off, not wanting to hear it again.

“Well,” she told him after she breathed out, “Morgan put it in his pants pocket when we got it off Brenda’s finger. It fell out a hole, but he didn’t notice. As soon as he and Brenda left the room, I picked it up.” She reached into her own pocket, withdrew something, then held out her hand. Riah’s diamond and platinum band was held between her thumb and forefinger. She made a disgusted face. “I disinfected it. I thought since Chuck managed to let it get away from him once that I ought to bring it straight to you.”

It was only then he remembered that Ellie had left their rehearsal dinner early in order to cover a shift for the doctor who would take hers so she could attend his wedding.

Casey took the ring; then he took Ellie. He wrapped his arms around her and swiftly kissed her mouth before he crushed her in a grateful hug. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Ellie smiled when he released her. Then her eyes hardened. “I probably should have told Morgan, but I also thought he ought to learn a lesson.” She laid a hand on Casey’s forearm. “I should have let you know I had it sooner. I’m sorry.”

“Right now, Ellie, I love you. You’re completely forgiven,” Casey assured her.

“You really are a lucky bastard,” Patterson said after Casey closed the door and set the alarm system. He shot a look over his shoulder at the General. “You’re lucky neither your wife nor your father-in-law saw you kiss another woman and tell her you love her.”

He blinked. Heat rode up his face. He hadn’t been thinking. Casey had simply been so glad to have Riah’s ring back that for once he responded impulsively.

“Considering she saved your ass,” Patterson continued, “I suppose you’re allowed to show your gratitude.”

“I love my wife.” Casey gave the man a stony stare.

Patterson returned a wide grin. “Never doubted it.”

 

The next morning, Casey slept a little late. He had no work, so there was no reason not to. He would have preferred to wake up with Riah, would have enjoyed whiling away a part of the day with her there, but, he reminded himself, tradition was tradition. He could live with it for one day.

He was meeting his mother and the rest of his family for a late lunch. The wedding wasn’t until seven, so they all planned to spend the afternoon together. He had plenty of time before he had to get to the hotel and get suited up.

 

\-------X-------

 

Room service woke Mariah. She looked at the clock next to her bed, surprised to see it was a little before ten o’clock. Her mother had let her sleep far longer than Mariah thought she would—especially considering Mariah had actually managed to go to sleep and stay that way. She was tempted to call John, see how late her father and General Patterson had kept him up and whether or not he had a hangover. Before she could reach for her phone, though, her mother appeared in the doorway and told her to come eat. In addition to Emma, John’s mother and sisters were there as well, and that, too, surprised Mariah. They had a pleasant brunch before John’s sisters excused themselves to see to husbands and children.

For the rest of the day, Mariah did what she was told. She ate what she was handed to eat, and she rested while other people bustled in and out of the suite. In the afternoon, Ellie arrived. Mariah was glad to have someone to talk to while her mother, Jane, and Emma went downstairs to supervise the last of the decorations in the rooms where the wedding and reception would be held. She wanted to go look herself, but her mother told her in a voice that brooked no arguments to stay put. Mariah fumed a little, feeling once more that this was more her mother’s wedding than hers and John’s.

“It could be worse,” Ellie assured her with a gentle smile.

“How?” Mariah snorted.

“My mother-in-law could be the one in charge.”

Mariah nearly laughed, remembering Honey Woodcomb running roughshod over everyone. She suspected that if Honey had known about Roark and what was really going on in the reception hall, Chuck wouldn’t have needed to call John, but Mariah was eternally grateful he had, was glad General Beckman had decided John was needed closer to home for a while. “Trust me,” Mariah told Ellie, “my mother makes Honey Woodcomb look like a rank amateur.”

The hairdresser her mother had hired bustled in. Ellie was up first. Mariah watched as the man worked his magic, and as he finished with Ellie, Emma and her mother entered and took their turns. When they began to dress, Mariah went into her bedroom to put on the strapless bra and lace panties Martin made to go under her own dress. She especially liked the stockings, pure, white silk with ribbon garters running through the tops. She tied them in neat bows, wondered if they would stay tied and stay up despite the slightly sticky bit of silicone inside the tops of them, pulled on a robe, and, as patiently as she could, submitted to the hairdresser and cosmetician.

A little over an hour before Mariah was due to go downstairs, Martin Mandeville and an assistant arrived to see to her dress. He uncovered it, and Mariah stared in wonder. He had delivered what he promised. She walked forward to run a finger over the creamy white silk. It wasn’t the movie dress John had told her to ask for, but she liked it nonetheless. The top of the bodice crossed from the waist over the breasts to just off the shoulder straps. The high waistline should hide the baby a little, and the full skirt and long train were enough like something from a fairy tale to satisfy Mariah’s mother. Mariah, though, knew fairy tales should only be heeded for the dangers they could teach, not for the romance in their stories.

Ellie gasped then gushed over it. Martin preened at her praise then checked it over, made sure it had no damage before he and his assistant began to unbutton the long row of buttons down the back so they could dress Mariah. Ellie’s phone rang, so she went back into the sitting room to answer it. Ariel stayed. Mariah stepped into her shoes first, but then she stopped Martin and his assistant a moment so she could retrieve something from her bag.

Her mother had a fit when she saw what was in Mariah’s hand, practically shouted, “You can’t be serious!” Martin, on the other hand, was amused.

“I’m absolutely serious,” Mariah told her. “I remember Ellie’s wedding, and John and I both tend to attract trouble.” She strapped on the thigh holster then holstered her loaded weapon. Martin and the assistant didn’t say a word, simply put the dress on her before fussing around her making adjustments.

She wouldn’t have believed it, but the man had worked miracles. Mariah didn’t look very pregnant at all, so she had a little trouble believing she was the woman reflected in the mirror. She turned to look at the back, relieved to see he had, indeed, managed to hide her scars. She smiled widely at him and told him he was brilliant. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Of course,” he confirmed with a grin.

Emma and Ellie came in with John’s mother. Mariah had to admit the compliments helped settle her a bit. Emma handed Mariah her earrings, diamond studs from which sapphire teardrops hung. Mariah put them in the holes in her lobes and fastened them. Her mother stepped behind her to loop the necklace Mariah had always loved to look at as a child around her neck. It was platinum with diamonds in a leaf pattern from which hung a large, teardrop-shaped sapphire pendant surrounded by more diamonds.

John’s mother stepped forward then and said, “I know why you said no before,” Jane told her, “but things have changed, and I really would like you to have this.” She held up the box with the sapphire bracelet she had tried to give Mariah when they met. Mariah thought she might cry, so she just smiled and nodded. Jane took the string of small sapphires linked by bits of delicate gold chain and fastened it around Mariah’s right wrist. She leaned in and gave Mariah a gentle hug and kissed her cheek.

Mariah whispered a thank you as she returned the hug.

Jane stepped back. “You look lovely, Mariah.” Mariah thanked her again, and then she came even closer to tears when Jane added, “You make my son happy, and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him truly happy.”

When she excused herself and Mariah found herself alone with her mother, Emma, and Ellie, Ariel said, “Considering how much I always disliked the man, I really hate admitting her son makes you happy.”

“Mum,” Mariah groaned.

Ariel smiled. “Don’t worry, Mariah. Casey and I have come to terms with one another.”

There was not much time before she had to go downstairs, and Mariah was suddenly very nervous. She was already John’s wife, but that didn’t ease her anxiety. She and John did seem to draw trouble, so the possibility that something might happen, go wrong and harm the people they cared about, compounded her worry. She was also still a bit wary of her pregnancy, and while she was touched that Jane had given her the bracelet, she worried she jinxed the baby by accepting.

She took a deep breath, wondered where her father was. Mariah still wasn’t sure he was very happy about her marrying John, mainly because he kept making jokes about her settling in Saskatchewan with a nice farmer, marrying an accountant from Manitoba, or running off with an insurance salesman from British Columbia. She just hoped he’d let it go, let her have a lovely night.

Thinking about him seemed to summon him. There was a faint knock on the door, and when Emma opened it, her father stood there. Ariel leaned in, kissed her daughter, and hugged her. “I love you, Mariah.”

“I love you, too, Mum,” she choked.

“Casey’s threatened to kill anyone who makes you cry,” her father said as he crossed to her, “so stop that now because I think he’s looking for an excuse to make me the first target.”

Mariah laughed. Her father looked handsome in his tuxedo; she told him so when he hugged her and kissed her. He looked at her solemnly. “You’re very beautiful, Mariah.” He took her hands. “If you’ve changed your mind, I have several operatives positioned to aid your escape.”

“V. H.!” her mother hissed. Ellie frowned, a puzzled look on her face.

Frowning at his former partner, Mariah’s father demanded, “What? Maybe she’s come to her senses and will settle for a nice actuary from Alberta.”

Mariah shook her head, smiled. “John, Dad. Only John.”

He heaved a melodramatic sigh. “I was afraid of that.” Her father looked at his watch. “It’s about time to go give you to him. Sure you won’t change your mind?”

Mariah squeezed his hands. “I’m absolutely positive I won’t change my mind.”

Emma and her mother picked up her veil. Mariah, on Martin’s advice, had chosen a veil that wouldn’t be attached to her hair. Instead, it simply draped over her, reached to her knees in both front and back. Emma handed over her bouquet, and since both her sister and her mother were taller than she, Mariah didn’t really have to duck down much for them to lift the transparent silk over her and settle it into place. Now, all Mariah had to do was manage not to dislodge it as she walked. Emma, Ellie, and her mother left to go take their positions downstairs.

“Your husband’s waiting,” her father observed when the other women had closed the door behind them.

Mariah froze, stared at him. He had called John her husband. “Don’t you mean my fiancé?”

Her father gave her a broad, knowing smile. “No, I mean your husband.” She could feel herself going pale, faint. “Mariah, I knew the day you married him.”

She knew better than to deny it, but she had understood that it would take a court order to find out they had married with a confidential license, and she couldn’t imagine John had told him. “How?” she whispered.

He shrugged. “Does it really matter?” She stared at him, mute. He relented after a moment. “One of my operatives was in the clerk’s office when the two of you turned up to get the marriage license. He followed you up to the B & B.” Mariah was determined not to ask why there was an operative in that particular office on that particular day, but her father explained the man had been tailing someone else. Serendipity, he shrugged, pure, dumb luck on the operative’s part.

From Mariah’s point of view, it wasn’t lucky at all, and she tried hard to remember who was in the clerk’s office that day. The truth of the matter was that she had been so startled by John’s insistence on getting married that day that she had paid no attention to the other people in the office when they went in. She had been in more than a little bit of shock, and as she had filled in her part of the application, she had been focused on that and on John.

“You know, Mariah,” her father said, “I love you, and all I want is for you to be happy. If Casey makes you happy, then I’m very glad for you. If he doesn’t, I promise to kill him for you.”

She sighed at her father’s earnest promise, saw the twinkle in his dark eyes that belied the sincerity with which he had said it, and then assured him, “You won’t need to, Dad. I’m perfectly capable of killing him myself—if I need to.”

He helped her pick up her dress’s train and held the door for her to precede him into the hallway. They waited at the elevator bank. Mariah clutched the red roses and white calla lilies tightly. John would likely be pissed when he realized she had, after all, arranged a red, white and blue wedding—considering Ellie and Emma both wore red silk and John and Paul Patterson’s blue uniforms would provide the blue. Only Chuck would stand out in his black tuxedo—one Mariah had bought and had tailored to him since the rentals he usually wore didn’t quite fit his wiry frame. It was a good investment given that he often found himself in one on the job.

When she and her father stepped inside the elevator and the doors closed, she told him. “I love you, too, Dad, and I’m sorry I let you down.”

Her father turned to look at her. Mariah watched him, saw his face clear when he realized what she meant. “I’m disappointed you left ISI, yes, but you’ve never let me down, sweetheart.” He touched her cheek through her veil. “Mariah, I’m very proud of you, very proud of the fact that every time you got knocked down you got back up again. You are good at what you do, even when someone seriously stacks the deck against you. I meant what I said: I just want you to be happy. It seems Casey makes you happy, and while I wish you hadn’t had to choose between him and your job, I think you made the right choice. He loves you, honey.”

The doors opened, and her father held an arm out to keep the door open long enough for her to safely get out. “Let’s get you down the aisle.”

Mariah smiled broadly as she stepped out, only to be startled by a photographer who ran as soon as he had taken her photograph. Bemused, she saw two men intercept him before she turned to her sheepish father. “I promised your mother,” he mumbled. There would be few photographs of Mariah’s wedding, especially since many of the guests and parts of the wedding party didn’t need to have their pictures published. Her mother had hired a photographer who could be trusted not to sell the photos without permission, so Mariah wasn’t that surprised her father’s operatives were chasing down photographers intent on getting pictures of Ariel Taylor or her daughter.

Mariah and her father were waved off to the side, and then the doors were opened for Ellie and Emma to enter the small ballroom. The doors were closed again, and she and her father stepped before them. “Last chance to change your mind,” her father cracked as Martin Mandeville’s assistant straightened her train.

Smiling widely, she took his arm and told him, “Take me to my husband.”

The doors opened, and they walked inside. Mariah concentrated on getting the pace right, a task made more difficult the second she saw John. The expression on his face gave her a bit more courage. She would have said she looked him over, but the truth was she ogled him. God, how she loved seeing him in his uniform, something she rarely did, and it was absolutely criminal how handsome he was. When she reached the front, she felt like she was the most fortunate woman in the world because he belonged to her.

 

\-------X-------

 

If he were asked, he’d have to say his wife was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Casey stared at her as she approached on V. H.’s arm. That was definitely not the Julie Andrews dress, but he liked what he could see of it. He liked it even better when they removed the veil. She blushed as her father put her hand in his, and Casey nearly bent to kiss her then instead of waiting until the end of the ceremony.

He avidly stared at her, put aside the fact that when he saw Ellie and Emma coming down the aisle and realized she had put them in red that he had plotted revenge for her having done what he told her not to. On the other hand, Casey could care less, he thought, taking in how the white silk enhanced her larger breasts, how the severe—formal—hair somehow made her eyes more blue. Before Whatley could start the service, though, Casey lifted the hand he held and kissed it.

As he listened to the words, he kept his eyes on Riah. Because he took all vows he made very seriously, Casey listened to Whatley talk about marriage as a gift and a way of life. He especially liked the part where the man talked about marriage as a “sign of unity and loyalty which all should uphold and honor.” Casey turned a hard eye on their guests when Whatley asked if there was anyone who knew of any reason they couldn’t lawfully marry. When no one spoke, the Canadian turned to him and asked if he would take Riah as his wife. Casey said firmly, “I will,” thus promising to love, comfort, honor and protect Riah and to be faithful to her. Riah’s own “I will” was equally firm. Casey smiled when the priest asked, “Will you, the families and friends of John and Mariah support and uphold them in their marriage now and in the years to come?” and those present said, “We will.”

Riah had chosen a selection from the Song of Solomon for the reading. A prayer and a hymn later, and it was time for Casey to take Riah’s hand again. Hers trembled; Casey wasn’t sure his didn’t as well. He repeated the vows after Whatley, and then he released her hand. Riah took his hand then and said her vows, and they released hands again. Bartowski gave their rings to the vicar, who prayed over them, and then Casey took Riah’s band and slid it on her finger. He repeated his favorite of the promises he made as part of the ceremony: “Mariah, I give you this ring as a sign of our marriage. With my body I honor you, all that I am I give to you, and all that I have I share with you, within the love of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.”

He felt her slide his band on his finger. He’d never thought he would wear a wedding ring, but Casey liked the idea of wearing something that marked him as Riah’s. She repeated the same promise he had just made her before they released hands. The priest proclaimed them man and wife, joined their hands once more, and then they knelt before Whatley, who blessed them. As far as Casey was concerned, they were done, but he waited, only a little impatiently, for the rest of the pageantry to end. He kept his eyes on Riah’s as he helped her to her feet, and wondered what she would do when she discovered Whatley was about to make one deviation from tradition

When the man said, “Mariah, you may kiss the groom,” Casey watched her frown, start to turn toward Whatley, but then she grinned. She reached up and cradled Casey’s cheeks, pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him within an inch of his life. Their guests laughed, but Casey had a sudden urge for the two of them to simply skip the reception, plead her pregnancy and the late hour.

It was only about eight, though, so he gave up on that as Riah smiled widely as she took his arm so Casey could walk her to the door of the small ballroom.

Later, as they posed for photographs prior to joining the reception, Casey wished again they could simply go upstairs. While they waited for the photographer to group the rest of the wedding party around them for yet another portrait, Riah asked softly, “Was that your idea, or Peter’s?”

It took him a second to realize she meant the modification in their instructions. Casey simply grunted. Then he grinned at her. “I didn’t hear you object.”

She and Casey were given several minutes alone after the last of the photographs were taken. Ariel told them they had about fifteen minutes while the rest of them herded the guests into the other ballroom where the reception would be. After her mother had gone, Riah leaned into him. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss against her temple. “That’s some dress, Mrs. Casey.”

Riah smiled and lifted her face so he could kiss her properly. She ran her hand up his chest. “That’s some uniform, Colonel.”

Casey’s fingered the line of buttons that marched down her spine. He couldn’t count without it being obvious, but there were probably thirty buttons he’d have to open to get her out of it. He figured about half would provide enough room to strip her, but he decided a little torture might be in order. He’d open every damn one of them while he teased her to the edge of madness. “These your mother’s idea?” he asked against her mouth.

She grinned. “Mine, actually.” He shot a brow up. “It was this or laces.”

He grunted and took her mouth again. Casey remembered fumbling with the laces on that leather corset of hers. “Buttons are good,” he assured her. “Even better when they’re undone.”

“Let’s skip the reception,” she whispered urgently and sealed her mouth to his. Casey gathered Riah closer. Even though he felt the same way, he knew they had to put in an appearance, knew that if they didn’t, Ariel or his mother would likely come haul them back downstairs to face their guests.

“Both of you stop that,” Emma MacKenzie ordered as she entered the ballroom. “Mom says that if you don’t get to the reception immediately, she will have your General Beckman send MPs after you again.”

Casey let his wife go, was about to lead her to the reception, but Riah stayed where she was. Mandeville and his assistant entered, and Casey watched as they gathered the train on her dress. They began folding it up, lifting toward her bottom. After a moment, Casey realized they were using tiny hooks to hold it up against her and out of the way. Riah gave him a wry, slightly embarrassed smile as she stood and waited for them to finish. Casey watched as they hooked then fluffed to get all that fabric to fall so that it looked as though there had never been a train. As he put a hand in the small of her back to steer her toward the room where their guests waited, he leaned down and murmured, “I wondered if you were going to have to drag that around all night.”

As a result, Riah was smiling when they entered the room to the announcement of “Colonel and Mrs. John Casey.” He noticed Riah smiled even more broadly at her mother’s sour face. Ariel had wanted her announced separately as Mariah Casey, but Riah had overridden her, told her she was quite content to be Mrs. John Casey. When that hadn’t persuaded her, Riah’s face had taken on a steely cast as she told her mother, “You insisted on formal and high ceremony, so we’ll go all out.” Casey had no complaints about it, but it had, frankly, surprised him. A part of him wondered if she meant it or had simply done it because she could. Riah had finally begun to assert herself over the wedding during the last week.

The reception began with a sit-down dinner. After they were seated, her father thanked their guests for coming. Casey noticed Riah relaxed when he didn’t add anything about Casey molesting her or any other of the remarks her father tended to make about their relationship. He simply hoped that when the meal was over and the toasts began that V. H. didn’t then decide to bring it up.

They were served appetizers. Casey noted Riah seemed very happy to see the food. He wondered if she had eaten that day or if nerves had kept her from doing so. He watched a waiter fill her glass from a bottle of non-alcoholic sparkling cider. His wife shot him a surprised look when his was, too. He leaned in to whisper that it was “only fair.” Riah grinned at him, which told Casey she remembered the last time he’d said that to her. He wished he hadn’t since he recalled the state of undress that fairness had taken.

As they all finished dinner, his father-in-law stood and began the toasts. Riah clutched Casey’s hand, and he listened, hoped her father would behave himself. V. H. spoke of his love for his daughter, and Casey was as touched as Riah obviously was by the heartfelt words. For once, Adderly was mostly serious, but then he caught Casey’s eye. “I never imagined she’d marry someone like Casey, though. I was holding out for a fisherman from Nova Scotia, but she chose an American. Since he’s a big enough bastard to beat me into a pulp, though, we’ll just say that I’m glad he loves her and that she loves him.” He grinned at Casey, who braced himself for what might be coming. “If you do anything to hurt her, if you break her heart, though, I’ll get on a plane, fly to Los Angeles or wherever you are, shoot you, plan a funeral, comfort my daughter, and pretend to be sorry you’re dead.”

People laughed, but Casey gave him a very hard glare. Riah did as well, he noticed when he shot a look at her. He supposed he ought to be glad there had been no mention of molestation.

“On the other hand, her mother has some pretty inventive ways to deal with you if you step out of line, so I may just leave it to her. My daughter is also, she assures me, more than capable of seeing you punished, so I guess I’ll have to let you live.” V. H. lifted his glass. “Make each other happy.”

After the applause, V. H. leaned down and kissed his daughter’s cheek before he shook Casey’s hand and said a soft, “Congratulations.”

Bartowski was up next. Casey was surprised at how smoothly the kid delivered his. He could have done without the lady feelings part, but hearing the kid say, “I’ve learned a lot from knowing you, Casey,” warmed a corner of his heart, he supposed. “I’m happy you have Mariah—and she you—and I hope you’re both happy for many years to come.” He had a momentary twinge of jealousy when Riah kissed the kid, but he let Bartowski hug him this once. He muttered a gruff, “Thanks,” in the kid’s ear.

“I never thought Mariah would fall in love, let alone get married,” Emma began when it was her turn, “and I would have bet money it would never be Casey when she did.” He considered whether he ought to be offended, but he supposed, given what Emma had known of him before, he shouldn’t be surprised. “Casey’s proven he’s the one, Mariah,” she continued. “After all, he braved Mom’s notorious dislike of him for you. I think I always knew he could do the knight in tarnished armor thing, but it’s obvious—if for no other reason than Mom’s behaving herself for once—that he will slay dragons for you.”

He felt the heat run up his face as Riah leaned into him. He’d slay Ariel for her, he thought as Emma finished, and he’d probably enjoy it if it wouldn’t upset Riah.

When he finally got to take her in his arms for their first dance, Casey began calculating how long until he could take her upstairs where they could be alone. A few steps in, he realized that Ariel was singing. Riah had told him her mother never sang in private. She smiled widely up at him and said softly, “One of my wedding presents, though I wish she’d chosen a song that wasn’t really about leave-taking.”

Ariel sang Louis Armstrong’s “A Kiss to Build a Dream On.” Casey kissed his wife as he moved her around the floor. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

“You will,” she told him, “but you’ll come home to us.”

He smiled at her faith in him and kissed her again.

Much later, after Casey had done his duty to their guests and considered collecting his wife and retiring, Paul Patterson claimed Riah for a dance. Casey nearly refused to let her go, but Bartowski walked up to him and said, “General Beckman needs you.”

Riah gave him a worried look. Casey kissed her before he reminded her, “No emergencies.”

Despite the fact his wife looked anything but reassured, Riah went with Patterson anyway. Casey followed the kid to a corner where his boss and father-in-law stood. V. H. handed him a file. Casey didn’t open it. “I promised Riah,” he said tightly, “twice.” He was not leaving her on their wedding night, despite the fact they had technically had their wedding night nearly three months earlier.

Beckman’s serious gaze met his. “There’s a problem, Casey.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a busy few weeks. I should be back to a chapter a week, but the day will likely shift going forward.

 

 

Casey stared at General Beckman and wondered how he could refuse an order if she gave one. As he’d told V. H., he’d promised his wife there would be no emergencies that night. Then he realized he’d actually promised there would be none that kept him from the ceremony.

The ceremony was over, and so might his promise be.

Riah would be angry, upset, but she’d let him go. Casey knew he’d go, too, promise or not, and that knowledge made him feel all the more guilty. “What problem?” he asked, and for once he didn’t allow his respect for Diane Beckman or her rank keep the smoking anger from his voice.

Instead of answering, Beckman turned to V. H. who gestured at the file he had handed Casey. Casey gave his father-in-law a hard stare, continued to hold the file, but still didn’t open it. “I promised my wife,” he ground out, “and I don’t intend to break that promise for the length of my leave.” The last he directed at the General.

“With any luck, Colonel, you won’t have to.”

Swinging his gaze back to V. H., Casey wondered if the man was taking revenge for what he termed Casey molesting Riah. If it was, he’d make the other man pay, and he’d make it painful though not terminal. His wife wouldn’t forgive him if he murdered her father.

“Take a look inside.” V. H. nodded at the file Casey held.

Flipping open the cover, he stared at a still that had obviously been captured from a security camera. Instantly recognizing the man in the photograph, he ground his teeth and looked closer, sought the reason he had been given it. Casey realized it was taken at LAX. He quickly noted the time and date stamp. That didn’t stop the tight coldness working though him. There was very definitely a problem, one that meant he probably would have to break his promise to Riah. His eyes shot again to V. H.

Riah’s father sighed, dropped his shoulders. “His name is Wes Finley. He was in Edmonton when Mariah was hurt.”

Tortured and permanently scarred, not to mention threatened with rape, didn’t equal “hurt” in Casey’s book. It was far too mild a word. At least he now had a name to go with the face, and he would learn everything he could as fast as he could. He looked at Beckman then. “He’s the cowboy from Gaza.”

“You’re certain, Casey?”

He wasn’t likely to forget that face. He nodded curtly.

“He’s CSIS,” V. H. added.

Casey’s eyes shot back to him. That added a whole new layer of betrayal, as far as he was concerned, because Adderly had to know what the man had done to his daughter, Casey’s wife, yet Finley was still walked free. Then he wondered why Finley was walking at all. It wasn’t like V. H. to let a threat to Riah remain unattended.

V. H. reached for the folder. “You get my daughter and get her out of here.”

Casey thought hard as he scanned the room for Riah and General Patterson. “I’m not scaring the hell out of Riah before we’re sure,” he said. “Find out if Finley’s here on legitimate business. If he isn’t, then she and I will leave a little early for our honeymoon.” He asked Beckman for increased security since she controlled the assets that would have to be allocated for that, outlined deployment plans that would reinforce what was already in place given the identities of some of their guests. He paused, wondered how to make it clear he still wanted privacy for the evening. He had several plans for his wife no one needed to either see or hear him execute.

Beckman gave him a grim look. “Your suite,” she began, but Casey stopped her.

“Is off-limits unless Riah and I have to leave early.”

“What he means,” V. H. drawled, “is that he wants to molest Mariah without eyes and ears.”

Casey’s teeth ground, but he noticed Bartowski seemed both fascinated and a little horrified by that exchange. Truthfully, it was only then he noticed Chuck was still there. “Wedding night,” Casey growled. “Since you’ve obviously never looked the term up, and because I promise she will be a more than willing participant, I won’t be molesting her.”

“Father’s prerogative,” V. H. told him, as he’d done in the hospital after they had taken down Laurance. Casey didn’t appreciate it or the reminder that Riah had been hurt then.

Narrowing his eyes, Casey reiterated, “She’s an adult, she’s my wife, and she certainly doesn’t object.”

V. H. looked as though he were about to fire the next volley, but Beckman’s grim, “ _Gentlemen_ ,” stopped him. “Give me a few minutes to set measures in place, Casey, before you escort your wife upstairs. If you need to change plans, we’ll call.”

She walked off. V. H. left to join Ellerby, who sat with Major Clack.

Bartowski remained behind. “Casey—“

“Can it,” he told the kid, thinking through alternatives to his honeymoon. They had rented a cabin in the mountains since Lydia didn’t think Riah should fly or travel too far. He’d chosen a place with a hospital nearby just in case. He supposed they could find a different location, maybe drive somewhere else, but that would mean taking a vehicle no one might connect with either of them, and he’d need time to arrange that. He sent Bartowski to find Walker for him, and since the music was winding down, he intercepted Riah and General Patterson. He met his wife’s eyes and told her, “There’s going to be a slight change in plans.” He then looked at his former commander, “Can you keep her close while I make a few arrangements?”

Paul nodded, put a hand in Riah’s lower back, was about to lead her away, but she dug her heels in.

Because he really didn’t need an argument at the moment, Casey made a pre-emptive strike. “I’ll keep my promise, but this affects you, so you will do as I say.” When Riah opened her mouth to protest, he added, “You can bitch at me later, and I’ll appease you all you want. Right now, I need to know you’re safe and will let me explain afterward.”

Her look was glacial, and he could tell exactly what Riah was thinking: little woman didn’t need an explanation. Casey was about to offer a partial explanation when she sighed, nodded curtly, and let Patterson lead her away.

“Casey,” a female voice said behind him.

It was a familiar voice, so he smiled as he turned. “Izzie.”

The years had been kind to Isobel Gerrard. Or not so kind, he thought, remembering her husband’s death a year and a half before. Izzie was still a size six and still a beautiful woman, even if she was Casey’s senior by several years. She’d always looked younger than her age, and even now she looked more than a decade younger than she really was. “Congratulations,” she said with a smile, then sobered. “V. H. suggested I offer a hand with Mariah.”

That would mean a whole other set of explanations, he realized, and while Casey would enjoy appeasing Riah, he wouldn’t enjoy what he had to do to calm her down enough to do so. Still, Izzie had always had her uses. “You armed?” he asked.

“Am I ever not?”

It was a fair point. Izzie, as Casey did, believed in always being prepared for the worst. “She should be fine with Paul Patterson,” he told her, nodded in his wife and former commander’s direction, “but since neither of them has a weapon, stay close.”

When Bartowski showed up with Walker, Casey gave his partner a list of requirements and asked her to locate a different destination for his honeymoon. She took Chuck with her. He spied V. H. striding his way. “My daughter is still here,” he snapped when he reached Casey.

“Izzie and Paul are keeping a watchful eye,” he grunted.

“Diane says Finley is still at the airport.”

Casey snorted. He’d arranged for his and Riah’s names to be on flight manifests to Hawaii, the Bahamas, and, for amusement, Paris that evening despite the fact they weren’t leaving California. If anyone looked too closely, though, they would notice there were two more passengers than the planes could accommodate for those particular flights. For that matter, they had reservations at several places in California. He had rented the cabin under an alias, but he couldn’t count on that holding. Riah had said it often enough—they tended to attract trouble, so Casey was willing to provide a diversion that ought to let them get safely to their destination.

“We’ve got the hotel secured, and since all the rooms on your floor belong to either family or friends, I think the two of you will be fine for the night while we find out what Finley’s next move will be.” V. H. raised his brows. “Thank your wealthy mother-in-law for booking an entire floor for wedding guests—and the happy couple.”

Ignoring that final statement, mainly because he didn’t like to think about the fact that Ariel was his mother-in-law, Casey considered whether or not to arrange for them to change suites. He rejected it, knew both of them had enough family on that floor to provide easy pickings if Finley was after Riah and wanted leverage, especially if they shifted security to another floor. What Casey wanted, though, was for someone to simply pick the man up. He knew they had to see if Finley was really there for Riah or up to something else. “He hurt Riah,” Casey reminded her father, let his anger creep into his response. “He tried to take her while I was in Gaza, and he does _not_ get a third chance.”

Walker joined them then, Bartowski still in tow, and handed Casey some folded papers. She’d made reservations at a secluded resort under the name Marcus Winston. “I’ll bring you the ID documents in the morning,” she said.

“Thanks,” he told her and looked for his wife.

Once he was beside her again, Casey thanked Paul Patterson and Izzie, who had struck up a conversation with Riah and his former CO, and then Casey led his wife toward an exit. The second they cleared the ballroom, Casey was on point. He unerringly found the agents Beckman and V. H. had put in place. He scanned for anyone who looked suspicious as he walked his wife to the elevators. They drew stares, but that was hardly surprising considering he wore his dress uniform, and Riah wore a wedding dress.

Casey just hoped he got to take it off her and enjoy what was left of the night before they had to leave.

There were agents on their hotel floor as well, one in a hotel maid’s uniform. Casey nodded at her as he slotted the key in their suite’s door lock.

After he closed the door, Riah turned on him. “Explanation, then appeasement.” Her face told him not to even consider deflecting her, so Casey explained, watched her face pale and her hands begin to shake. He stepped forward to wrap his arms around her. “There are probably more agents in this hotel than either of us can count,” he assured her. He knew all entrances and exits would be covered, all stairwells and all elevators watched. “If there’s a serious risk, though, your father or Walker will let me know, and then we leave early.” He left unsaid that it would be with a heavy escort and both of them in body armor.

Taking it on faith that her father and Beckman would take the appropriate precautions to keep them safe, Casey made one of the most difficult decisions of his professional life—he would trust their colleagues to do their jobs.

She nodded, snuggled closer to him, and he held her. When Riah began to relax, he tipped her head up and took her mouth. When he broke the kiss, he cocked a brow. “If you’ll step into the bedroom, Mrs. Casey, I’ll appease you in comfort.”

Her smile wasn’t the brightest he’d seen from her, but it made him relax a little.

When he followed Riah into the room, Casey stopped her, pulled her back against him and touched his mouth to the exposed skin of her neck. He kissed along her shoulder while he loosened the clasp on the necklace she wore. Riah took it, stepped away from him to lay it on the nightstand. Casey followed, so he could continue what he was doing. She removed an earring as he kissed along the opposite shoulder, breathed in her scent and decided whether or not to strip her quickly or make it excruciatingly slow.

His mouth opened at the base of her neck at the point where it joined her right shoulder. Riah swallowed, tilted her head slightly to the left. Casey’s hands slid over her waist as she lifted her own to remove the remaining earring from her left ear. While he waited for her undivided attention, his mouth kissed its way slowly up the side of her neck to a place just below her right ear. He watched her drop the earring from her extended left hand. He suspected it landed on the carpeted floor since it didn’t make a sound when it hit as the other had. Riah didn’t seem to care, though; her head fell back on his shoulder and a faint moan escaped her. He didn’t care, either.

Casey’s mouth worked around to the back of her neck. Riah gave a slight shudder. He didn’t know why his mouth on the nape of her neck affected her the way it did. He had once made her come just by nibbling on her there, which had fascinated him at the time. He was more interested this time in being inside her, though, so he decided it was time to get her naked and get her horizontal. He had a mission to complete after all, and he would take it on with far more enthusiasm than many missions he’d been given.

Sliding his hands from her waist up over the back of the bodice of her wedding gown to the exposed skin above it, he let his fingertips glide along the edges of the white silk while he bent and kissed the back of her neck again. Riah gasped. Her body jerked. Casey weighed how much he could tease before she broke. He decided to find out.

With carefully calculated slowness, he kissed his way down her spine toward the top of her dress, and just before he reached the white silk, he released the top button from the loop that held it closed. There were a lot of buttons marching down her spine. Casey wondered which one of them would grow impatient first. He smiled as he kissed the skin he exposed and started on the next button, determined it would not be him.

As he kissed along her vertebrae, lingered as his fingers released a button then kissed lower as his fingers teased another button loose, Riah stood there, her breath uneven as she waited for him to finish. He made sure he was maddeningly slow at his task, especially since what he really wanted to do instead of continuing the slow, soft torture of his fingers, his lips, his tongue, was to just yank her bodice open and get on with it. As another button opened, as his mouth pressed against newly exposed skin, he decided he wouldn’t mind tipping her on the bed and lifting her skirts. If she was wearing any of those filmy, flimsy panties, he could probably get rid of them without taking them off her.

Still, there was something to be said for methodical attention to detail, something to be said for savoring his wife.

Even if it killed the both of them.

When the straps just off her shoulders started to slip, she raised her hands to her breasts, held the fabric in place. Casey smiled against her back, decided that Riah was clearly amenable to what he was doing if she hadn’t simply let the dress fall. He had gone to his knees behind her, was slowly working his way down her back after having skipped the scant couple of inches covered by the strapless bra she wore. He liked the way Riah moaned his name as his mouth entered the lower curve of her spine. He smiled a moment against her skin before he continued his plodding progress.

“John, hurry,” Riah moaned. “I’m about to collapse into a puddle.”

He snorted, and then his mouth opened on her spine again. His tongue slid over the spot he had just exposed. Casey felt a tremor shake through her. He wondered how many damned buttons were still left for him to open. They could get the dress off her now—Riah moaned something to that effect—but he ignored her, continued his task.

If she was this impatient, she shouldn’t have let Mandeville put that many damned buttons on the dress. If she’d taken the laces, Casey thought, he might have just cut through them. On the other hand, it was a hell of a dress, and she was simply stunning in it. Despite the fact she’d never wear it again, he didn’t want to ruin it. She let loose a very frustrated growl, prompting Casey to lift his mouth to murmur, “Riah, the purpose of a wedding night is to—“

“Consummate the marriage,” she growled again, though it came out mostly groan. “We did that nearly three months ago when we got married the first time.”

He barely stopped the laugh. Casey wasn’t sure why her reaction amused him, but he decided to play along. He swiped his tongue at the base of her spine, tried not to laugh at her heartfelt, “ _Finally_ ,” especially since there were still a few buttons to go.

Wondering if it might constitute cruel and unusual punishment, Casey tugged another button loose. “I was going to say introduce you to sex.” He scraped his teeth over her newly exposed skin.

“We’ve met,” she told him fervently, which made it even harder for him not to laugh. Casey didn’t stop the amused snort, though, as her aggrieved tone sank in. On the other hand, the last of the buttons was now open, so he slid his hands inside her dress and kissed back up her spine. He stroked his hands over the mound of her abdomen, up under the fabric where her hands held the bodice of her dress over her breasts. Riah lifted her own hands enough to let him cup her.

Casey let his body slide up her exposed back as he stood again and leaned down to kiss her shoulder. His mouth traced the curve of flesh down over the ball of her shoulder before he moved his hand and pushed the strap of her dress down her arm. He stopped her when she started to lift her arm out of the dress. Casey could feel her impatience as she waited for him to use the light touch of his fingertips to stroke if over her wrist and hand before he started over with her other shoulder.

The second her dress slithered into a pool of white silk around her ankles, Riah turned in his arms and pulled his mouth to hers urgently, pressed against him, and Casey wondered if she’d torment him the way he had her as she undressed him. “Get it off,” she breathed as she began tearing open the buttons of his uniform.

For his part, Casey’s hands weren’t idle. He ran his fingers up her spine and found the hooks of the strapless white bra, but then his fingers stilled. Casey lifted his head, leaned back from her a moment and just looked. Even five months pregnant, he found her sexy as hell. The white lace covering her breasts enhanced her assets, no question. He bent, lowered his head, and pulled her to him as he ran his mouth over the flesh pushing over the lace cups. When his mouth took hers again, she pushed his dress blouse off him. Riah yanked the suspenders off his shoulders before her fingers tore at the buttons of his shirt. She seemed in a fevered rush. Casey nearly reminded her they had all night before he remembered it was late and they might not.

She pushed his shirt off him as well, and his fingers finally returned to the strap of her bra and began to separate the hooks from eyes in the narrow band of elasticized lace across her back. When he freed her from it, tossed it somewhere, Casey’s hands slid around to cup her bare breasts. Riah moaned into his mouth when his thumbs grazed her nipples. He lifted her out of her skirts and moved her toward the bed. When he set her on her feet again, she started loosening his trousers while he slid his hands inside the tiny lace panties that matched the strapless bra.

Her mouth was on his chest, his shoulders, when he stopped her hands. He tipped her face up and kissed her hungrily, then nibbled down her body, his hands once more hooking in the waistband of her panties. As he slid them down, he lifted them over the bows holding her stockings up. Casey’s hands skimmed down her thighs and encountered something completely wrong. He stopped, ran his fingertips around her left thigh and couldn’t believe it. He lifted his head from her breast, met her eyes, and wondered what the hell.

Obviously, he should have looked further south than he had. He corrected that oversight. Casey stared in disbelief at her left thigh. When he looked up at her again, Riah went crimson. She’d worn a damned holster and a loaded weapon under her wedding gown. He slid the panties over the weapon as he watched her. She stepped out of them while his fingers began removing the holster. He cocked an eyebrow at her.

Blushing, Riah told him, “You do tend to attract trouble.”

Given that the only moment of trouble that evening had been about her, his brow shot higher, “ _I_ do?” Casey placed the holstered handgun on the floor. “There were enough operatives and probably enough weapons to stop a small army in those rooms this evening,” he reminded her. “When did it change to ‘something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, something nine millimeter’?”

He knew he was in trouble when the smile started. “Just thought I’d wear something you found irresistible,” Riah told him with a pert grin and an arched brow.

Casey snorted. “You’re at your most irresistible when you’re naked,” he assured her. About to add more, he decided it didn’t matter. Nothing had gone wrong, really, and if it had, having her armed was not a bad thing, especially since he’d strapped an ankle holster on despite it being far from regulation with the uniform. He went back to what he had been doing, opened his mouth on her stomach and continued to trail kisses along her skin.

Leaving his mouth against her hip, Casey untied his shoes. A moment later he stood before her again, and Riah resumed her work on his trousers, pushing them over his hips as she opened her mouth on his chest, kissed along the ridges, licked a nipple she found. Her hands slid inside the waistband of his boxers and over his taut backside before she followed a path around his hips and then over the length of him. He nearly fell over as he tried to toe off his shoes, sucked a ragged breath in, and considered shucking his own clothes since Riah was making slow work of it. It occurred to him then that she was as determined to make him crazy as he had been to make her be so. Then Riah smiled and began kissing her way down his abdomen, slid his boxers down and took him in her mouth.

A strangled sound escaped him even though he tried to hold it back. Riah slid her mouth over him, slid back up again, trailed her tongue along him and ran it lightly along that spot just below the head that made him forget everything but the wet heat of her tongue and mouth. Casey’s fingers tightened convulsively on the back of her head. Another stroke down and up, and he groaned her name. She slid her hands down his legs, then slowly back up, echoing the slow motion of her mouth and tongue. “I’m not going to be any good to you if you don’t stop,” he gritted, but Riah made the journey with her mouth one more time before releasing him.

He had her up and on her back on the bed almost before she could blink, his mouth on hers hungrily. Casey leaned down and pressed his mouth above one of her stockings, fumbled a moment for the end of the ribbon and then slowly slid it undone as he kissed up to the apex of her thighs. His palm followed the silk stocking down her leg as his mouth covered her, and he licked. He shed the last of his clothes, but when he removed his own holster, Riah’s brows shot up, though she refrained from pointing out his hypocrisy over her having worn a weapon. Casey followed her other stocking down her leg with his hands while his mouth trailed kisses in its wake. He kissed back up the inside of her thigh and closed his mouth over her once more. Just as she was about to come undone, he moved up over her and fitted himself to her at last.

 

She was still breathing hard following orgasm, her heart was still racing, when Casey pushed himself up on his elbows and leaned down to kiss her. “Mission accomplished.”

“Which mission?” Riah asked breathlessly as she rose up and took his mouth again for a soft kiss. “Consummation?” She fitted her mouth to his again. “Reintroducing me to sex?”

He grinned down at Riah as she smiled back up at him. “Loving you.” Casey pressed a quick, soft kiss on her mouth. “Your father would term it molesting you.”

“While I would prefer not to think about my father right now, especially with you still inside me, I certainly hope you have plans to molest me more.”

Casey grunted. “It isn’t molestation if you’re willing.”

She ran her hands over his bare chest, his shoulders, and stared up into his eyes. “I don’t care what we call it as long as we keep doing it.”

Their hands kept stroking, caressing, and their mouths met again and again. After a while, Riah pushed at his shoulder. “I want to take a shower,” she told him, then blushed. Casey frowned, but before he could ask why, she told him, “I don’t want to sleep in makeup, and my hair has enough hairspray it could survive a category five hurricane and not dislodge a single strand.” He snorted, nearly asked her why she thought they were going to do any sleeping, but then she offered in that sexy register of hers, “You could join me.”

Casey considered the possibilities.

He had to help her find all the pins in her hair, and he felt the grin spread, finally erupt into a laugh as he plucked the last one and her hair remained exactly as it had been, its sole support apparently the hairspray she had mentioned. When they were in the large marble shower, Casey ran his hands over her, distracted her as he waited for Riah to finish washing her hair. She pulled his mouth to hers and clung to his shoulders. He lifted her up against the wall of the shower, and when she wrapped her legs around him, he slid inside her again.

Riah wrapped her wet hair in a towel and wrapped another around her body after they exited the shower. Casey’s towel hung low on his hips as they returned to the suite’s bedroom. He started gathering his uniform, moved to the closet to hang it up, but then he stopped, stared at the skimpy white thing hanging there. There wasn’t much of it, and he could see right through what there was of it. He assumed it was supposed to be a garment, though it was a pretty poor excuse for something meant to cover Riah’s body. He admitted he was more than a little interested in seeing it on his wife. When Casey turned to ask what the hell that was, Riah had picked up her dress and carried it to the sitting room where she draped it over a chair.

Strolling back into the bedroom, she stopped in front of Casey, who still stood at the open closet door, holding his uniform. He looked at her and asked, “Are you trying to give me a stroke?”

Riah grinned, jerked the corner of his towel so it dropped to the floor and took him in hand, did exactly that. He was about to give in, leave that thing in the closet and let his uniform join his towel, but she released him. Casey nearly begged her to give him a stroke. He lifted out whatever that sheer thing was supposed to be, held it in front of her, the hanger balanced on his forefinger while Riah laughed. “It nearly gave my mother one when I unpacked it,” she said as she reached for it. She lifted a brow. “I could put it on, if you liked.”

“You could just drop the towel,” he said gruffly, “and the effect would be pretty much the same.”

Grinning at him, she reached for the corner of the towel tucked over her breast. “My mother told me I might as well parade around naked.”

He went rock hard at the idea while his brows shot up as well. “Is that a possibility?”

She laughed again, tugged at the corner of her own towel, and let it fall to her feet. Casey’s eyes traced the curves of her body. “Since you asked so nicely,” Riah purred as she stepped closer to him. Instead of touching him, though, she hung the whatever it was back in the closet and reached for a hanger and then his uniform trousers. She set about hanging up his uniform as he watched her, handed her garments as she worked. After she hung his shirt on the closet rod, she slid up against him, wrapped her arms around his waist and flattened her hands on his back. “On or off, John?” she murmured.

He pulled the towel from her wet hair and kissed her hungrily. “Since you went to all the trouble of buying it,” Casey said against her mouth, “I might as well see you in it.”

Watching as she untied the thin scrap of white silk ribbon that held it closed, he had a picture in his head of exactly how little that was going to cover as she slid the wispy fabric off the hanger. She shrugged it on and tied the ribbon below her breasts. It was a simple design, little more than a rectangle of sheer fabric over her back, two smaller rectangles of the same sheer fabric in front with heavy embroidery along the edges that joined where the ribbon pulled it closed. A trace of embroidered vine rose from the hem to frame her breasts and circle her nipples. She was as exposed as she would have been had she remained naked, and Casey most definitely appreciated the view.

Riah’s lips twitched.

“What?” Casey barked as he reached for her.

She leaned into him as he kissed her. “I told Mum I was unlikely to have it on for very long.”

Casey plundered her mouth. “I wouldn’t want to make a liar of you,” he whispered as his fingers sought the ribbon holding the front closed. It fell to the floor, forgotten, as Casey took her back to bed.

 

When Riah slid from beneath his arm early the next morning, he mumbled a complaint but settled back into the mattress as she padded naked to the bathroom. He fumbled on the nightstand next to his side of the bed and found his cellphone. There were no missed calls, no texts, and no e-mails. For a moment, he wondered if the world had come to an end but he simply hadn’t noticed yet. He hit Walker’s speed dial and waited.

“Where’s Finley?” he asked, his voice sounding like gravel.

“He disappeared just as the team Beckman sent was closing in.”

Casey rolled on his back, raked a hand through his hair. “Any word on what he was doing in Los Angeles?”

It irritated the hell out of him to hear they didn’t know but that it hadn’t been a CSIS assignment. Casey told her he and Riah were supposed to have brunch with their families before they left. Walker told him they had arranged a rental car before she told him she’d bring them clean phones when she brought his false ID. He set a time, asked her to get their luggage from the Vic and put it in the rental, then asked about their escort.

Walker sounded amused when she said, “I know how to do my job, Casey.”

He grunted, hung up. It was only then he realized Riah should have returned from the bathroom, and he hadn’t heard any water running to indicate she’d decided to get in the shower. He tossed back the covers and went to see if she was alright.

When she didn’t answer his knock, didn’t respond when he called her name, Casey turned the knob, glad she hadn’t locked it, and pushed the door open. He found her barely standing, her hands braced on the granite counter, her fingers digging into the lip of the sink. Riah had her eyes screwed closed, fought for breath. Casey had a horrible feeling this was about to be a repeat of that morning in Chicago when she had the panic attack. He touched her shoulder, frowned down at her when she turned toward him, but before he could ask, Riah gasped weakly, “Daughter.”

So caught up in his concern for her, at first Casey didn’t process what she meant. He had no idea what to do if it turned as ugly as that morning had been, but then he realized Riah didn’t look scared. She rasped, “We’re going to have a daughter.”

Casey leaned in and kissed her, careful not to restrict her breathing. He relaxed when he felt the tension drain from her. “Old news, Riah,” he teased. He tilted his head and searched her face. “That bother you?”

Her eyes were locked on his, so he easily saw her worry. Riah shook her head. “It’s just finally really sunk in,” she breathed and gave a slight laugh. “Does it bother you?”

“God, no,” Casey assured her, and it didn’t. He meant what he told V. H. and Paul. He wanted her, the daughter Riah carried. He’d never thought he would have children, so as a result, he hadn’t been nursing a desire for a son. He wasn’t in the least disappointed to know he wouldn’t get a boy.

“You wouldn’t prefer a son?” she asked, echoing the question nearly everyone seemed to ask when they told someone about Riah’s pregnancy.

Casey bent and kissed her very thoroughly before he told her in all honesty, “I want _her_ , Riah.” He let the kiss heat a bit. “And we can’t keep calling her ‘her.’”

She gave him a sunny smile. In that moment, he would have almost agreed to any name Riah suggested, even one that began with a J as she held him closer and let that smile wash over him.

He shifted his hold on her, considered what they could be doing instead of standing naked in the bathroom—no matter how much Casey liked the feel of her warm, smooth skin rubbing against him. “What are you doing out of bed?”

Riah leaned into him. “I was thinking about a bath.” He looked over at the long, wide, deep recessed tub.

“Want some company?”

While Riah retrieved their towels from the floor of the bedroom and returned to the bathroom, Casey started the water running. “Not too hot,” she reminded him as she picked up her toothbrush. He didn’t tell her he, too, remembered that her aunt Lydia had warned her about sitting in very hot baths. After she brushed her teeth, he did his and then shaved while she finished detangling her hair and used a large barrette to hold it up out of her way—his, too, Casey thought as he observed the long length of her naked back. He stepped into the tub first then helped her in.

Straddling his lap, Riah smiled at him as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I remember the first time we took a bath together.”

Fond of the memory himself, Casey closed his arms around her waist. “At least this one’s more comfortable,” he told her and pulled her against him. He pressed a kiss against her lips. “Abigail.”

A frown furrowed Riah’s forehead. Then her face cleared, and she cocked a brow. “Starting with the A’s?”

One of his hands trailed along her spine. “You said you wanted traditional names,” Casey reminded her. She didn’t know he’d bought a name book and had been browsing through the lists.

“No.”

“What’s wrong with Abigail?” he demanded. In truth, it had basically been the first name he’d thought of beginning with A.

“Nothing,” she answered. “I just don’t like it.”

He kissed her again. “Make a counteroffer.”

She cocked her head and thought. Sticking to the alphabetical order he’d just established, Riah said, “Addison.”

He made a face. “Isn’t that a boy’s name?”

Riah frowned and then shrugged. “Don’t know. How about Aidan?”

Casey knew that was a boy’s name, but he pretended to consider it a moment before he shook his head. “Boy’s name.”

“And Reagan isn’t?” she countered with an arched brow.

He grinned at her. “Thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Riah glowered at him. “Alexandra.”

The smile ran off his face. Casey tensed, froze. It was too close to that other name, the name he never wanted to hear again, and there was no way in hell he would ever consider it. _Ever._ Riah’s expression went to concern. Casey knew he had to deflect her. “No,” he said, tried to temper the recoil. “Alice, maybe.”

“I can just hear the jokes now,” she said. He gave her a confused look, and she reminded him of the Lewis Carroll books. “Allison.”

He shook his head. “Alyssa.”

This time Riah shook her head. “Amelia.”

“God, no,” he said. “Anastasia.”

Riah gave a very unladylike snort and then laughed. “Really, Colonel? Russian names are okay?”

A flush ran up under his skin. Alright, she had him there. “It was the only other A name I could think of,” Casey muttered, felt the heat run up his skin at having to confess that.

She started rattling off names beginning with A. There was one he was certain couldn’t be a real name, so he made her say it again. Then he made her spell it. Angharad. Casey narrowed his eyes and asked what the hell kind of name that was. She told him it was Welsh and that one of her former ISI coworkers had been named that. “No one will be able to pronounce it, let alone spell it,” he dismissed. “What else do you have?” Riah resumed firing off names, apparently not noticing he wasn’t contributing: Anna, Anne, Anthea, Antonia, Aphra, April, Arden, Aretha, Ashley, Audrey, Ava. Casey stopped her at Ava. “I like that one,” he said.

“It goes on the maybe list,” she said, and he could easily see she wasn’t at all sold on it.

When Riah suggested Alberta, he gave her a mock glare and accused her of trying to force a Canadian name on him. “Be thankful I’m not holding out for Manitoba,” she shot right back. Casey gave her a look, one that told her he wasn’t sure she wouldn’t argue for it just for the sake of arguing.

As he ran a hand over her belly and up to cup her breast, he told her, “Enough.” Casey pressed a kiss on her mouth. “We’ll pick up with B’s later.”

Then he took her back to bed where words were not necessary.

 

The phone woke him, Riah, too. She groaned, but Casey hoped like hell the fact that it was the hotel phone meant they weren’t about to have pull on body armor and evacuate. He lifted his head from her stomach with a grunt. Before he could tell her to ignore it, she reached a hand out, picked up the handset, and mumbled a greeting. “Don’t forget brunch,” he heard Emma say in her ear as he shifted up to lie beside her.

“Mum made you call so I wouldn’t be pissed off, right?”

He could hear her sister’s laugh. “Probably.”

“I’m pissed off anyway,” she mumbled. She tilted her head and looked around at Casey. He looked over his shoulder and assumed she was eyeing the alarm clock on the bedside table. He noted they had an hour before they were due downstairs to eat brunch with their families before they left for their honeymoon. He wondered grumpily what they had been thinking when he and Riah agreed to get out of bed and join their family. Casey was quite content where he was. When Riah looked up at him, he leaned in and kissed her.

“Tell Casey to quit kissing you and get out of bed,” Emma told her.

Casey grinned. He said in his lethal voice, close to the handset’s microphone, “Are you sure I’m only kissing your sister?”

“I don’t want to know,” Emma disavowed quickly.

Riah decided to get in on the act then, he noticed. “Tell Mum I didn’t wear it for more than about thirty seconds.”

There was a long silence on Emma’s end. “It’s a good thing Dad’s a psychiatrist,” she finally said. “Between you and Mom, I’m scarred for life.” Riah laughed, and Emma added, “Julie says to tell ‘Johnny’ to remember to wear clothes—and, gross, by the way.”

He watched Riah’s smile turn salacious, wondered what she would say.

“As I told Julie once before, not gross at all.”

Casey leaned down, kissed her again as her sister added, “I’m hanging up now and scheduling an hour with Dad.” He took the handset from Riah and fumbled it back into place.

 

They were only about a quarter of an hour late when they joined their families in a hastily arranged private room rather than the hotel restaurant where they were supposed to eat. Riah had simply pulled her hair into a sleek ponytail and dressed in a plain, sleeveless, pale green dress that reminded Casey of the one she’d worn to marry him the first time. There were pink rosebuds embroidered around the scooped neckline and the line of the empire waist. He pulled on jeans and a blue polo. She stepped into a pair of flat sandals and let him take her hand and lead her to the bank of elevators. He still held her hand when they reached the crowded room.

They came in for a lot of teasing, but both of them weathered it, for the most part complacently. When V. H. said Riah looked like she had been thoroughly molested, Casey felt the angry growl rumble while he decided how much to smack back, but Riah eyed him and said, “Dad, I had to be unwilling for John to have molested me. Trust me: I wasn’t.”

To Casey’s amusement, that had her father quickly moving on to another subject, so he rewarded Riah with a very thorough kiss.

Talk circled around to Riah’s pregnancy. Casey realized then they hadn’t told them they were having a girl. Riah blushed, looked up at him, and made the announcement. It was easy to see her parents, Emma, and Paul Patterson had known. Casey realized he should have told his own family sooner. From the way his mother’s brows rode up her forehead, he suspected she’d bend his ear later for not having done so.

After the meal was over, they all lingered a while, but when Walker stuck her head in the door, Casey bent, told Riah they needed to go. He endured hugs and kisses, and then trash talk from Julie, Jan, and V. H. before they could leave. Walker went back upstairs with them, took their phones and handed them their replacements. Then she waited while Casey pulled on his vest, made Riah put one on as well before handing her the weapon she’d worn to get married in, and led the way to the service elevator they rode to the bowels of the garage. Walker had a Ford Explorer waiting.

He thanked Walker, let the blonde CIA officer hug him, noted Riah did as well, and then he helped his wife into the passenger seat.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers a lot of time quickly.

A honeymoon with a security detail in tow wasn’t exactly what Casey had had in mind, but it was what he got. When they arrived at the secluded resort Walker had found, Riah was tired, and so was he. After settling her in their cabin, he had personally scouted the area and examined potential threats. He told the head of their detail what he expected—primarily that they stay out of sight and only check in at scheduled times unless something happened—and then Casey rejoined his wife.

Riah slept, so he removed his shoes and joined her in the roomy bed.

 

It was dark when she woke and, as a result, woke him. Casey stretched his legs out as Riah rolled over to face him. “Bailey,” she mumbled.

For a split second, Casey thought she was talking about another man in her sleep. Fortunately, he realized she had reopened negotiations for a baby name. Casey was amused by her adherence to the alphabet. “Boy’s name,” he growled before he kissed her. Searching for an alternative, he realized the only girl’s B names he could come up with were Brenda and Barbara, neither of which he found acceptable, especially not Brenda given what had happened with Riah’s wedding ring.

“Beatrice,” she said, and nibbled along his jaw.

His lip curled. “Too girly.”

Riah stopped what she was doing and leaned back so she could see him. “So no boys’ names but no girly names for our daughter,” she deadpanned.  
Taking the opportunity to nibble on the parts of her breasts the neckline of her dress failed to cover, Casey considered her statement. “Something dignified.”  
“Beatrice isn’t dignified?” she asked.

Knowing he couldn’t win that one given it was a name that ran in one of the Scandinavian royal families, he caught her mouth, teased her lips open. When he released her mouth, Riah warned, “I’m on to you, Colonel.”

“Not yet,” he assured her, since she wasn’t on him at all. He gave her a small grin. “It works.” One of her brows shot up. Casey could tell she wasn’t buying his explanation. He, on the other hand, knew he held the high ground. Riah wasn’t at all on him, and it did work to deflect her—whether she wanted to admit it or not.

“Belinda.”

“No,” he told her. “Belle.”

“Hell, no,” Riah said. Curious at her vehemence, he waited, nearly smiled at the blush that crept up her face. “Disney. No Disney princess names.”

“Beth,” he offered softly, wondered if she would accuse him of what he was really after—getting Elizabeth into consideration through a back door.

Apparently, Riah was preoccupied. “Maybe.” Then she effectively stopped the list by tugging his shirt off and going to work on the rest of his clothes. It seemed she was more onto him than he’d thought if she could co-opt his strategy as effectively as she did. That mouth of hers began meandering over his body in ways that had him appreciating how things Canadian tended to migrate south. She barely let Casey finish getting them naked before she foreclosed on and then took possession of his body.

 

Sometime later, Riah murmured, “Boudicca.”

Casey gave a sleepy snort. “Warrior queen might be appropriate,” he agreed, stroked his fingers lightly down her shoulder and arm, “but I don’t think so.”

 

Each morning while Riah was in the shower, Casey checked in with Walker. Finley had, apparently, gone to ground. As a result, the security detail V. H. had insisted on stayed in place. Casey didn’t mind, especially since he and Riah seldom left their cabin. She seemed content to stay close. He found it odd, though, to be at loose ends, a feeling not made easier since Finley couldn’t be found. One morning he made a quiet call to V. H., who told him they were looking and to watch out for Riah.

He and his wife continued to work their way through the alphabet, though neither of them found much in the C’s or D’s that appealed to them.

It was on the next to the last day of their honeymoon, though, that she surprised him. They sat on the padded loveseat on the cabin’s porch, Riah curled into him, when she announced, “I want to quit the Buy More.”

One of the things that had irritated the hell out of Casey was what she had been asked to give up to marry him. Admittedly, Riah didn’t seem to mind that she had had to quit the job she had trained hard for, had fought hard for, but Casey had hoped he could find a way she could keep some form of it. He’d told her father that she needed a little more seasoning, but she was good at it—and she was.

Riah looked up at him when he didn’t answer and told him she wanted to stay home with their child.

He was simply floored. She hadn’t seemed the June Cleaver type. Part of him wondered if it had anything to do with her previous miscarriage, but he bit the question back. It was a good thing he did. She continued, told him, hesitantly at first, that she remembered her childhood as a series of goodbyes, prolonged absences, and all-too brief hellos on her parents’ parts. Riah told him she used to wish she was an orphan because then, at least, she could have been adopted by someone who would always be there when she needed them. She looked up at him. “I want our child to know one of us is always there.”

When he offered no objections, she told him she could afford to stay home, so she’d like to quit the Buy More when she got closer to her due date. It would play hell with their cover, he knew, and she admitted as much. Casey’s objections were mainly because he knew few of their coworkers would believe they could afford to halve their income with a baby on the way.

She predicted his response, though, told him, “It’s no longer a cover, John, and after the wedding, Big Mike and some of the others have to know I come from money.”

That, Casey couldn’t argue with. Big Mike and Grimes had both been shocked to realize who Riah’s mother was. It hadn’t taken long for word to spread, he’d bet. He and Riah could truthfully admit she was a trust fund baby if they were questioned.

For a moment, Casey considered the kinds of comments the Buy More menagerie would aim at him for having married a rich woman. His hand fisted simply thinking about the Idiot Twins and what they would likely have to say.

On the other hand, Casey knew he would be the one coming and going from their child’s life, but he understood why Riah felt as she did. As a result, he pulled her closer and agreed that if she wished, she could leave the cover job. After all, as she’d pointed out, it was no longer her cover, so there was little reason for her to continue putting hours in at the Buy More—unless she wanted to. While Riah could legitimately continue to help safeguard Bartowski if there were no other options, she had no legal standing to do so.

She rewarded him for his support, and he smiled, rubbed his hand over her stomach gently. Casey wasn’t sure he would make much of a father, but he felt certain Riah would make a good mother.

His wife shifted closer to him, and her arm slipped around his waist. This, this was a position he especially liked, Riah sprawled partly across him with her head on his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to her hair; then she pressed a kiss of her own under his jaw.

Moments like this had been a bit of a luxury for them. It was rare they had time, just the two of them, and it was even more rare for them to have quiet time that would likely stay quiet. Casey found the idea made him uncomfortable even as the reality settled in. She felt good against him, but the second he acknowledged that, he wanted to deny it.

It had been far too long since he’d seriously considered the idea of forever after, so it was hard for him to adjust to the possibility. Casey thought of the numerous nights they had spent together since he asked her to stay the year before. He thought, too, of the equally numerous nights he had spent away from her. He missed her keenly when she wasn’t beside him. Sitting there in the morning light, though, Riah’s warmth leached into him, and Casey wondered how many more nights would be tallied in those two columns.

Still, the subject he’d been unable to raise with her loomed.

Despite the fact they hadn’t been married long, despite the fact he had every intention of seeing that he was there when she needed him, Casey knew his life could be turned upside down in a second. Beckman could decide to send him back to his unit. She could decide he was needed somewhere other than Los Angeles. He could find himself in another country, another city, with another name pretending to be someone he wasn’t because his country needed him to be that someone else, to find something or someone it needed found.

Before they learned Riah was pregnant again, Casey would have been glad to have any of those jobs, but things changed the night Riah told him she was pregnant. He studied the woods before him, ran a light hand over Riah’s arm and shoulder to mold his palm against her cheek, and remembered the twin emotions that had coursed through him in that moment: joy and terror. Admittedly, terror had been the dominant one, not entirely because Riah had a panic attack when she saw the positive result of the home test. Casey still felt both terror and joy: He didn’t trust either emotion.

Perhaps he only felt that way because he didn’t want to leave Riah, not yet, not after what had happened the last time. He knew he could do nothing to prevent another miscarriage, knew Lydia thought the chances were good nothing would go wrong this time, but he didn’t want Riah to have do this alone. Casey pressed another kiss to her forehead. He wouldn’t let her do it alone. He thought of that ultrasound image, thought of the idea of being there when their daughter was born, and he wondered what he would do if orders came though that would prevent that.

“Eloise,” she said softly.

Gathering her closer, glad to have something to distract his thoughts, Casey groaned melodramatically. “Too French.”

Riah’s head came up. Her eyes met his. “Eloise,” she said emphatically.

Okay. She was obviously serious about that one. Casey thought about it, tried it out in his head: Eloise Casey. He didn’t really object to the name, but it niggled at him for some reason, made him think of pink. He barely quelled the instinctive shudder. “On the maybe list,” he finally conceded, “but only if you put Elizabeth on with it.”

After several long moments, she grumbled, “Fine.”

When Riah didn’t suggest other names beginning with E, Casey pressed a kiss on her temple. “I never wanted you to have to give up your job with ISI.”

Riah met his eyes again. “I would have left ISI sooner or later.” It was easy to read the truth of that. “I was never going anywhere with the organization. Dad made sure of that. I’m not sure how much longer I would have waited for an opportunity he would probably guarantee never came.”

There was no bitterness behind her words, but Casey was surprised Riah didn’t know her father any better than that. His father-in-law might have been an overprotective father, but V. H. had had ambitions for his only child. It wasn’t Casey’s place to interfere, though, so he wasn’t about to do so.

“I know what it means to make choices, Riah, choices that mean you turn your back on everything you think you wanted for something you think you want more.” He stopped, considered his next words carefully. “Sometimes, you get exactly what you bargained for, and sometimes it simply isn’t enough.”

Her eyes searched his. “I fully understand the choice I made, John, and I fully understand what I’ve given up. I simply want what I’ve chosen more.”

Because he wanted to believe she’d made an informed decision, Casey dropped it, rewarded her for an answer that made him comfortable, but that night, lying beside her while Riah slept, he wondered if she truly had any idea what she’d done, what she’d turned her back on, what she’d committed herself to when she chose him instead of her career.

He hoped like hell that if she ever came face-to-face with the full ramifications of her choice, that she remained easy with the one she had made.

 

On the day they left to return home, Casey couldn’t say he was eager to do so, nor did it appear his wife was any more eager than he to go back to Echo Park. They were quiet on the drive, and Casey wondered if she was already reconsidering what she had chosen. He hadn’t lied. He was worried she might come to resent being left behind, knew that each time might turn out to be one time more than she was willing to tolerate. Casey wondered what would happen if that day ever came.

They unpacked, then Riah went to start laundry while he checked in with Beckman. There was still no news about Finley, and Beckman told him she’d need to send him and Walker to Barcelona in a couple of days. Rumor had it a Ring cell was planning a meet. Beckman’s team on the ground had identified a possible route in. She told Casey Larkin’s name had come up in the surveillance of one of the participants. Casey silently considered whether or not Walker should be included since the wound from the man’s death was still raw.

It wasn’t his call, though, so he said nothing. Walker couldn’t be babied, nor, Casey realized, could Bartowski for much longer. The enemy kept circling closer and closer to the kid, and if Beckman was about to send Casey and Walker around the world chasing shadows, then Chuck would need to know how to defend himself.

As casually as he could, he asked Beckman if she intended to send the Intersect with them.

His boss removed her reading glasses and frowned. “I think Mr. Bartowski should remain where he is for the moment. I’ll have to give some consideration to what we’re going to do with him. His father has become reluctant to continue contracting with us on a new Intersect, and while we have scientists and engineers who can probably take Stephen Bartowski’s work and move it forward, it would be best if he were cooperative.” She sighed. “He insists his son not be part of this, but the younger Bartowski is proving to be equally stubborn about being included.”

It was a given that Chuck wasn’t going to voluntarily quit. It amused Casey to realize that while Bartowski wasn’t into adventure sports the way his brother-in-law was, the kid liked his own version of life-threatening adrenaline rushes. Bartowski wanted to be a spy, and with a couple of exceptions, once the kid set his mind on something, he went after it.

Before he could offer an opinion, Beckman said, “I think we should give training him another try.”

Casey wasn’t going to argue. The kid had a lot to learn. He was smart, and if he could settle in, could learn what he needed to survive, could find a calm center so he could learn to control the Intersect, too, he’d be formidable.

Their boss sighed again. “Training him separately didn’t work, for whatever reason. I considered sending him to the Farm, but I suspect he’ll only draw unwanted attention if the Intersect kicks in, and we can hardly inform his instructors while we still don’t know who all the Ring’s players are. Given we also have some Fulcrum remnants lurking in several agencies, I think I’d like to try the Prague facility one more time.”

Sincerely doubting they’d have any more success this time, Casey kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t his decision, but he had considered a kind of on-the-job training for the kid. Neither he nor Walker had bothered since Chuck wasn’t supposed to be part of their missions beyond delivering needed intel—preferably while he was in a safe location far from danger. It had long been obvious to Casey, though, that Chuck was becoming more and more a field agent whether any of the professional spies wanted that or not.

The kid certainly wanted it.

About to suggest he or Walker—and Casey definitely preferred it be Walker—should be part of the training this time, Beckman got there first, though she admitted she would rather not tie Casey up for six weeks. “I’ll give it some thought,” she finally said, “but I suspect you will want to stay closer to your wife.”

There was a bit of rancor under her words, but Casey ignored it. It was true, after all. He didn’t respond.

She moved on to other matters, and Casey noted what needed to be done.

 

That didn’t mean he stayed home. Bartowski was shipped back to Prague, Walker in tow to get him settled and manage his emotions. They were on the outs again, so Casey was glad to have them far away. He wasn’t idle, though, since he had a couple of Beckman specials, and even when he was home, there were always things to do. They weren’t getting far with the Ring, but they had begun to realize it was patterned on the old Communist model of decentralized cells loosely networked. Casey knew that made it harder to trace, unlike the centralized Fulcrum.

One afternoon in the Buy More, Riah sat alone at the Nerd Herd desk. She hadn’t quit yet, but Casey figured that mostly had more to do with the idea of having nothing to do but sit around waiting. As he watched her, she suddenly looked up and across at him. He dropped what he was doing, alarmed by her expression, and crossed to her.

Before he could ask what was wrong, Riah took his hand and laid it against her stomach.

Something pushed against his hand from inside, retracted, then did it again. “Doesn’t that hurt?” Casey blurted.

Riah gave him a soft smile and shook her head. “It’s just uncomfortable.”

He left his hand there, tried to figure out what body part pressed against his hand and wondered what it would be like to have something squirming inside him like the alien in those Sigourney Weaver movies (so he’d seen them as a young man—no need for Bartowski to ever find out). “That happen often?”

“I’ve only noticed it a couple of times,” Riah told him. “She’s decided to be far more active today.” She took his other hand and placed it on her other side. “She’s stretching.”

Casey knew he wore an idiot grin.

 

Weeks passed. He hunted Ring agents, and now and then he caught some. Other times he killed a few. Just after Labor Day, Riah quit the Buy More. Big Mike found Casey on the sales floor after she went to clear her locker on her last day. “Babies are expensive, John. You two sure you know what you’re doing?”

This wasn’t the first time since Riah told their boss she was quitting that the man decided to have a talk with Casey about her decision. Tempted to ask if Big Mike was more worried he was losing one of his few employees who took her job seriously, Casey just said, “Riah wants to stay home. We can afford it—if we’re careful.”

“Her momma might be rich and famous, but trust me, John, you don’t want to have to rely on your mother-in-law’s charity.” The other man suddenly frowned. Casey waited to see what he would add. “This wouldn’t be about you expecting the little woman to stay at home, now would it?”

Casey unclenched his jaw. “My wife told me when we got married she wanted to stay home with the baby.” He cut off the instinctive _Moron_. “She doesn’t have to work, so she’s chosen not to.” He didn’t add he was surprised she had stayed on at the Buy More this long. Casey decided that if the other man kept it up, he’d tell him he had a military pension that provided further income. That turned out to not be necessary.

Over dinner that night, Casey realized Riah was on a mission of her own, but he wasn’t sure what his part was. It began with her telling him Emma was coming in at the weekend for a baby shower. He had things he’d be doing, so he wasn’t sorry to not be present. “Mum’s bringing your mother and sisters,” she added. Casey held back a sigh. It would be nice to see them again, but he suspected baby planning might make Riah as crazy as wedding planning had.

She changed the subject, talked about how glad she was to be out of the Buy More, chatted about Ellie and Devon, managed to get him off talking about a new piece of weaponry the NSA had just delivered.

When Riah told him, “You and I need to make some decisions, and we’ll probably need to do some shopping,” Casey realized his wife had unsuspected skills at lulling a man into a vulnerable position.

“What kind of shopping?” he asked, though he could tell she meant baby shopping.

She could do the shopping, Casey decided. That was a level of hell he preferred to avoid at all cost. While he sought a diplomatic way to tell her his decision, Riah told him they needed to think about baby furniture, about clearing the room where she’d moved his work materials for their daughter, about painting, about paint colors, about cloth or disposable diapers.

Somewhere in her recitation, Casey wondered if he could get himself sent to Afghanistan. Beckman, he was sure, would let him go. They hadn’t found bin Laden yet, and Casey had some ideas about where to look.

On the other hand, there was something vulnerable in his wife’s expression, some uncertain note in her voice, so Casey knew he wasn’t going anywhere—except baby shopping.

Ariel lent her Malibu home for the shower. Casey was glad his presence wasn’t required. He spent the day analyzing intelligence reports for information on local Ring cells. The reports were largely anonymous—hardly surprising since some clearly included inside knowledge—but some of the information was more speculative than Casey would have liked. They were blind in ways he was not used to being, and he could use Bartowski.

The kid had washed out of training yet again, probably because Walker hadn’t stayed long, was labeled a lemon, and was now making his sister insane while he rotted on her sofa and ate cheese balls. Casey knew this because he still monitored the feeds in the Bartowski household. He also knew because Ellie vented to Riah who told him what the female Bartowski had to say.

He still wasn’t convinced the kid had no place on Casey’s team, and he’d lobbied Beckman a couple of times. “We’ve wasted millions on Chuck Bartowski already, Colonel,” had been her sharp retort the last time he raised the issue before she began laying out his next mission. She hadn’t, Casey noticed, completely closed the door yet.

As he started through the reports again, hunted the key that might unlock the Ring and hoped he was finished in time for dinner with his wife, mother, and sisters, Casey read more slowly and more carefully. Emma was coming along as well, he knew, though he wasn’t sure about Ariel.

When he got home, it looked like a baby store exploded in the living room. There were tiny garments, toys, and things Casey thought might make effective torture devices piled on various surfaces. Emma MacKenzie paused at the foot of the stairs and grinned at him. “My sister is taking a nap,” she said quietly. “I thought I’d sort through some of this for her and take it upstairs.”

He wound up acting as Emma’s pack mule. For the time being, she was putting things in Riah’s old room. After the first load, he’d left her to fluff, fold, and store while Casey looked in on his wife. Riah lay curled on her side, dead to the world.

“What did you do to her?” he asked after returning downstairs as Emma handed him a pile of what looked like tiny folded shirts.

His sister-in-law wore a close replica of one of Riah’s meaner grins. “Tortured her for information and then made her open more presents than any one baby can surely use.”

Given the piles of things still left to carry upstairs, he figured the last part was correct.

“Our mothers say she’s at the stage where everything makes her tired,” Emma told him. “Mom wants her to hire a nanny or at least a housekeeper.”

Casey considered the logistics of either. His wife didn’t want the first—or at least he assumed she didn’t since she’d quit her job to stay home with their daughter—and they didn’t need the second. On the other hand, Riah might need some help when the baby first came, but Casey didn’t think it was worth the background checks and clearances for someone who might only be there a handful of weeks.

Then he remembered he was taking family leave to be that help.

“Mariah told her there was no need,” Emma continued, gathering up several stuffed animals. She turned a speculative gaze on Casey. “You haven’t done or said something to make her think she’s supposed to turn into some fifties sitcom mother, have you?”

Uniquely phrased as it was, it wasn’t the first time someone had asked if Casey had insisted Riah become a housewife. “She made the choice.”

A brow cranked up. “Did you limit those choices, Casey, or did she decided on her own?”

In that moment, he wondered if his wife had made her decision because she thought it was what he wanted. Casey wondered if, somehow, he had given Riah the impression he expected her to turn into some stereotypically perfect little wife and mother. Then he remembered that conversation during their honeymoon. “I never asked your sister to stay home with our daughter,” he told her. “Riah says she wants her to know one of us will always be there for her.”

“From what Dad says, no one was consistently there for Mariah when she was growing up,” Emma conceded. “Mom thinks Mariah should have something else to do other than just raising a baby and taking care of you.”

“If it helps, Emma, so do I,” he confessed. “I didn’t want her to have to quit ISI.” Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. She had to quit ISI, but Casey couldn’t help feeling she shouldn’t have been pushed out of her career entirely. He told Emma so.

“I know Mariah was frustrated by her inability to get anywhere,” her sister told him. “She had begun talking about changing agencies or doing something else before she met you.” Emma shrugged. “Maybe she’ll be happy, but if she isn’t, you’d better be supportive of whatever she decides to do instead.”

It was easy to agree since Casey felt the same way.

As they climbed the stairs, Emma asked if they had chosen a name yet.

Casey wondered if she would let him put his body armor on before he answered that. “She didn’t tell you?”

Emma shook her head.

“Victoria.”

He could see it coming, had known he would never hear the end of it.

Riah had doggedly stuck to alphabetical order, and by the time they reached the V’s, Casey had begun to wonder what would happen if they made it through to Z and still hadn’t settled on something. He’d nearly suggested Valerie, but stopped just before he let it come out of his mouth. He’d quickly substituted Virginia. Riah had shaken her head and countered with Veronica. Casey vetoed that and offered Violet. He’d thought she was considering it when her face blanked. After a moment, Riah softly suggested Victoria.

“They’ll all think I’m making you name her after my car,” he’d complained, but couldn’t think of another name for the letter. He was about to suggest they move on to W, but she stopped him.

“I’ve always liked the name, and I definitely didn’t have your car in mind when I said it.”

“Riah—“

“We won’t call her Vickie or Tori,” Riah cut in. She leaned into him, pulled him down for a kiss. “She stays Victoria.”

“Your father—“

“Doesn’t get a say,” she told Casey firmly. “I like Victoria Casey.”

The trouble was, he liked it, too, but he’d liked Olivia as well. And Elizabeth. He was about to protest, what was beginning to look like an executive decision on her part, but she kissed him again as her hands started pushing the clothes off his body. Casey liked the fact that pregnancy seemed to have increased Riah’s sex drive the last few months. Despite the fact that it was getting harder to fit the parts together, his wife proved fairly resourceful at finding solutions. Riah had him on his back and her mouth working over him in very little time.

Then he realized she’d learned a thing or two about exploiting his response to her when, after she had him in her mouth and had begun using it to make him powerless, Casey found himself moaning, “Okay, Victoria it is.” That triumphant look clued him in, but it was already said. When she finished her reward for his capitulation, though, he told her, “But her middle name is Reagan.” Riah opened her mouth to protest, but he shut her up with a thorough kiss. “No arguments, Mrs. Casey. You just seduced me into agreeing with your choice, so I get to provide her middle name.”

His wife was unrepentant. “I think I need some persuasion of the physical kind.”

He had returned the favor.

But Emma didn’t need to know any of that, so Casey simply said, “Your sister chose it.”

Thankfully, she let it drop.

His mother and sisters, though, didn’t when they told them over dinner, especially when Riah admitted the full name they had agreed on. “Victoria is a lovely name,” was all his mother said. His sisters were the ones who accused him of naming his daughter for his car and his beloved former President. Riah told them with a smile that they were naming her for the Queen. Casey’s eyes narrowed while he considered whether or not that had influenced her at all. Then she added with a grin he found suspect, “I think if we have more children, I’ll have to consider a Canadian premier’s name to make up for his persistence in giving her an American president’s name.”

It distracted his sisters, but Casey knew that wouldn’t be the last of it. He dreaded what V. H. would have to say. On the other hand, he realized, he could simply confess why he’d given in to his wife when she suggested Victoria.

 

Riah hunted for a crib, but she had trouble settling on one. Casey didn’t see the problem since their daughter would only sleep in it a couple of years, maybe, before she graduated to a bed. He was smart enough not to say so, remembered Riah’s frustration over a wedding dress. He did, though, begin to wonder if she had a perfectionist streak he had not previously noted. She finally came home with a cradle, told him they still had time. He looked at her distended stomach but didn’t correct her. The next week she bought a rocking chair, one he doubted he’d find comfortable since it sat low to the ground. It was in the same mission style Riah had chosen for the furniture downstairs, and he realized the cradle was, too.

His wife hated pink, Casey learned. It wasn’t a favorite of his, so it didn’t bother him that she looked at greens and yellows rather than the cliché. She must have said something to their families since there wasn’t a bit of pink in the majority of things they’d been given.

They were in one of those upscale baby stores when Riah finally found a crib. He mostly wished he could be anywhere but where they were, so to keep from feeling too out of his element, Casey ran through, yet again, the most wanted list and known details, tried to strategize ways to locate and neutralize them when he saw something in the corner. He guided Riah toward it. She smiled happily at him. The crib matched the cradle and rocker, and to his relief, she bought it.

Now he just had to figure out what to do with it.

 

Riah insisted all along that Lydia had the due date wrong, but as that date approached, Casey got nervous. When the date came and went, when Riah hadn’t yet gone into labor, he worried. His wife reminded him that many pregnancies went past their due date, but Casey still called her aunt Lydia to check.

His wife gave him crap because Lydia, of course, called and checked on Riah and told her about his concern. It still made him uneasy. He hated when things didn’t go according to schedule or to plan. As he lay in bed with his wife that evening, he groused to Riah, “I hope this isn’t an indication of things to come.”

She laughed, pulled him closer for a kiss, and then said, “Not everything goes according to plan, John.”

He’d had months to think about this. He’d had months to prepare. He’d read her pregnancy books and read material online. He’d talked to her aunt, to her mother, to his mother, much to the latter’s amusement, and to Ellie Bartowski—Woodcomb. He knew how it was supposed to work. In reality, though, the idea of Riah giving birth scared the living hell out of him. There were so many things that could go wrong, and all of them were beyond his control. Casey was used to being a fixer, despite his crack to Bartowski about breaking things, but this was something he couldn’t fix if it went wrong.

Riah had been amused by his checklist, by the fact that he had plotted several routes to Westside where she would deliver and had driven trial runs to time the drive at various times of the day and night and on various days of the week so he would know which route would be best on which days and at which times, but she had submitted to it. It made Casey feel better to know when they went to bed at night that if their daughter decided to finally arrive, he was ready. Riah, though, had thrown him a curve by asking what it might be like on a holiday.

To his irritation, she had continued to insist their daughter would arrive on Veteran’s Day—which she persisted in calling Remembrance Day—but she had told him that all along. Each time he raised a concern about Riah being past her due date, she would smile and tell him their daughter would make sure he didn’t forget her birthday by being born on an American holiday important to him. Casey had taken to telling her he hoped their daughter made her appearance a day earlier than the one she insisted on—the Marine Corps’ birthday.

He had to work on the tenth but not until the late shift. He got up at his usual early hour that morning, but Riah rolled over and dropped off again. She hadn’t been sleeping well lately, the baby keeping her awake along with her seeming inability to find a comfortable position. She had kept Casey awake as well. He supposed, as she had said the night they realized she was pregnant, he was in this, too. He’d simply have to sacrifice his share of sleep. He got his shower, dressed, filed some reports for Beckman, and then kissed Riah before he left for the Buy More. She roused and caught him, pulled him back for another kiss. “Call me if you need me,” he told her before he left her where she lay.

As the day wore on, he began to feel restless. It was the kind of restlessness he got when something was about to go wrong. Casey dismissed it, finally, as just apprehension because of Riah’s insistence their daughter would be born the next day. He nearly took Lester Patel’s head off when the weasel snuck up behind him. The little Indian was now sporting a nasty bruise where Casey’s elbow had connected with a cheekbone. He acknowledged to Chuck, who was once more back at work, that he should apologize, but Patel wasn’t letting him get anywhere near enough to do so.

Barnes had offered to anesthetize his friend, but Casey had passed. However, he was fairly sure he now knew why his chloroform kept disappearing. He made a mental note to figure out how that half of the Idiot Twins was getting into his locker.

He went to Castle for his dinner break and called Riah. She told him she was fine, and they talked for several minutes. She sounded tired, and Casey wished he was home with her. He had filed the family leave paperwork with General Beckman, but they had agreed to leave the start date open until Riah went into labor. He considered calling Beckman and telling her he’d changed his mind and wanted to start his leave immediately.

About half an hour before the store was to close, Walker called. Casey was reluctant to go on the recon with her, but she insisted. He was about to give in when a white-faced Chuck walked up. “Mariah’s trying to get you,” Bartowski said, and Casey, without thinking, hung up on his partner. There was only one reason his wife might call him.

Okay, there were a lot of reasons—break in, kidnapping, Finley turned up, Laurance made a jailbreak, Ariel was doing her diva routine again—but he suspected it had more to do with Riah finally going into labor.

_Oh, hell_.

They were having a baby.

They were having a baby _now_.

He grabbed Chuck’s phone, and almost before he got her name out, Riah told him to come home. His mind went into whiteout. He couldn’t focus on anything other than the baby was finally coming. The cellphone in his left hand was ringing. Casey knew it was Walker. He pulled himself together, decided his priority. He shoved his phone at Bartowski while he told Riah he would be there as soon as he could get there. He had driven the Vic to work that day, and he figured he could use the light and siren. It was a genuine emergency, he thought. Casey told her to hold on.

Thrusting Chuck’s phone into the kid’s chest, he headed for the front door. Once he was out it, he went into a dead run for his car. Bartowski caught up with him as he wrenched the door open and handed Casey’s phone to him. “You might need this.”

He grunted his thanks, and then he drove.


	32. Chapter 32

Riah was pale when Casey burst into their living room and skidded to a stop just inside the door. As soon as she saw him, she struggled to get to her feet. She had never really gotten all that big, but during the last several weeks, she found it harder to maneuver her body. Casey was beside her in a moment, helped her up from the couch, and would have just scooped her up and carried her out the door if there hadn’t been something in her expression that stopped him. While he tried to decide what to say, Riah told him, “It feels like bad cramps, but they’re about five minutes apart.”

As it always did, anything not related to her pregnancy but related to female functions he’d really rather not think about made Casey want to mentally, if not physically, run away. Maybe it was important for him to know, but he’d really prefer not to. He spied the bag she’d packed earlier in the week on the coffee table and considered whether to grab it or her. Riah gave him a look that told him he’d better take the bag. He snagged it and wrapped an arm around her before he started to steer her out the door. She planted her feet, though. Casey wondered what was wrong.

She lifted a brow. “You are not meeting your daughter for the first time dressed for the Buy More.”

Of all the things Riah could have insisted he do in that moment, asking him to change clothes had to be the lowest priority on his list in this particular situation. “Riah—“

“Change your shirt at least, John.” When Casey heard the weary note in her voice, realized she was serious and unlikely to budge voluntarily, he raced up the stairs and did as Riah asked, traded the green polo for a blue one.

Back downstairs, Casey noticed Riah had her hands cupped around the sides of her abdomen as she bit her lower lip and screwed her eyes tightly shut. She was clearly in pain, and he nearly panicked. Casey reminded himself that he did not panic, that this whatever-it-was definitely _was not panic_. He fought for breath himself as Riah breathed in and then slowly out. He slid his arms around her, buried his face against her hair, and only really relaxed after her tensed body did eased.

“Riah?”

After a moment, she leaned back against him while Casey shot a look at the clock. “I think we should go.” Riah sounded exhausted, which troubled him. After all, the hard hadn’t really begun yet.

She wouldn’t let him use the lights and sirens, reminded him that they still had plenty of time. Casey refrained from telling Riah she didn’t know that. The extent of his medical experience primarily related to dealing with burns, bruises, broken bones, sprains, cuts, stabbings and bullet wounds, but he searched through his memories of the first aid and emergency medical training, searched for anything related to delivering babies. He came up blank other than what he’d read in her pregnancy books, which had been negligently vague. Casey supposed that was largely because they all seemed to assume pregnant women would have a midwife or doctor handy at all times during their last trimester. He wondered which government agency’s job was to look into the accuracy and quality of information contained in those books.

A hissed in breath told him Riah was in pain again, so Casey took her hand and held it while he drove, glanced at his watch and realized it had been five minutes since she had the last contraction. It wasn’t that he doubted what she’d told him, but he was glad it wasn’t any closer than the others had been since the idea of having to wing delivering his own child made him queasy.

Focused on the road once more, Casey tried to remember if he had ID beyond his driver’s license with him when he spied a policeman. He was speeding, and if the cop tried to stop him, he wondered if he should pull over or keep going toward the hospital. He wondered if his wife having a baby could be considered a national security emergency. It was definitely a personal emergency, and he thought he could justify the other designation as it left Bartowski less protected since the Intersect now only had Walker watching his back.

If he could have thought of anything to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete imbecile, Casey would have talked to Riah so that she would be more at ease. From the tense way she gripped his hand, she could use a distraction. What he found wasn’t much of one, but he seized on it anyway. “Did you call your parents?” She didn’t answer, so he shot her a quick glance.

Riah shook her head. “Let’s see if the baby is really coming.”

There was a split second where Casey’s mind went blank. She had called him, was ready to go to the hospital when he got home, but she wasn’t sure the baby was coming? “Riah,” he said carefully, “you’re overdue, and you’re having something very similar to what they described the early contractions being like.”

She breathed in deeply, and ignored his response entirely. “Did you call your mother?”

“I didn’t even call Walker,” he retorted. It was true. He’d been on the phone with her, had hung up on her when he realized Riah was on Chuck’s phone. Casey was pretty sure Bartowski had since told Walker what was happening.

“John?”

He shot her another glance, the note in her voice putting him on alert. “Yeah?”

“What if something goes wrong?”

It was her greatest fear, he knew. Casey had no idea what to say to that. Riah had never been entirely comfortable with this pregnancy, so he understood her fear, felt it himself. Casey was not an optimist at the best of times, but this was one of those moments when he needed to be. “Nothing will go wrong, Riah.” If it were at all possible, he wouldn’t let it.

He parked the car when they arrived and came around to open her door for her. Yet another contraction hit about the time Riah released her seatbelt, so Casey crouched beside her open door, slid a hand over her rounded abdomen as she rode out the contraction. Casey didn’t like how helpless he felt. He was much better when he could do something about a given situation, but there was absolutely nothing he could do no except to be with her, wait with her. At least Casey was good at waiting when the mission was important enough, and this one was.

“Come on,” he said softly as Riah relaxed. Casey helped her out of the Vic and walked with her toward the emergency room and through the opening doors. She told the man at the reception desk she thought she was in labor.

They put her in a wheelchair while Casey filled in the paperwork as quickly as he could. Riah answered questions about her doctor and how far apart the contractions were coming. After they signed the paperwork, he walked beside her as they took her to maternity.

The two of them were shown to a room where Riah was told to undress and handed a hospital gown. Casey helped her out of her clothes and into the gown, and then he helped her onto the bed. She asked him to find her phone so she could call her parents. He fished it out for her, but before he could give it to her, a doctor and nurse entered. Riah was examined, interrogated by the doctor, who confirmed she was in labor. They smiled at Casey, congratulated both of them, and basically left them to get on with it.

Finding that completely unacceptable, Casey followed them out into the hall. “Where’s my wife’s doctor?” he demanded.

The nurse smiled at him. “We’ve notified Dr. Pentangeli’s practice,” she told him in a soothing voice. The doctor who had been with her was disappearing around a corner at the end of the hall.

“Get him back here, now,” Casey ordered.

The nurse’s smile vanished. “Mr. Casey, women do this every day, and very few of them need a doctor hovering over them for most of it. This could take many hours, and we have other patients who need us more. Your wife’s doctor or one of the doctor’s in her practice will check in on her periodically, and so will I. Right now, she needs you more than she needs us.”

Astonished, Casey watched the woman walk away. He started to go after her, but that would leave Riah completely alone. He strode back into his wife’s room and tried not to mind the slightly amused expression on her face, certain she must have heard every word.

Riah called her mother, who, apparently, promised to call her father and Emma. Casey called his mother, who told him she would get a flight out as soon as she could. When he hung up, he called Beckman and told her his leave had started.

Progress, if it could be called that, was slow. As she said she would, the nurse checked back in fairly regularly, but Riah’s contractions were only a little closer. Casey knew because he carefully timed them. The nurse assured him that was normal, and after an hour and a half of obvious discomfort, Riah asked him to help her up. She went into the bathroom and threw up. As he helped her back to the bed, Riah told him she felt a lot better. When the nurse returned, Casey told the nurse. She told him that sometimes happened and checked to see how far Riah was dilated.

The contractions started coming a little closer together, and although Riah seemed to be in more pain, she still refused an epidural. Casey began to wonder if she would break his fingers when she ground the bones together each time she had a contraction. He was also pretty certain he was going to be black and blue where her fingers dug into him when a contraction hit and she wasn’t holding his hand. Puncture wounds were a very real possibility, he thought, given how deeply and painfully her fingers sank into him, and he wondered why hands as small as hers were capable of that much pressure.

The nurse came and checked her again, asked how she was feeling. Riah’s right hand traced a line just below her breasts. “I’d feel a lot better if you just amputated everything below here.”

Her voice sounded a little weak. Casey looked closely at her, studied her wan face. Riah appeared ill. She’d made him help her up a couple of times to use the bathroom, but she hadn’t puked again.

Laughing, the nurse told her most women put the amputation mark lower. Riah shook her head slowly and insisted she’d chosen the right spot.

Casey began to worry about how tired she seemed to have grown. He knew how little she had slept lately. Her labor clearly sapped her strength. He wondered if he should talk to the doctor—who was _not_ Lydia Pentangeli, and Casey certainly intended to let his wife’s aunt know what he thought about her dereliction of duty when she finally put in an appearance—about a cesarean, but he had a feeling Riah would be pissed off if he did. Even Casey cringed when the doctor finally broke her water. He considered punching the man since it was the first time Riah reacted badly to pain since this began.

It was about half past three in the morning when they finally took Riah to the delivery room, made Casey dress in a surgical gown and mask. From that moment on, things happened quickly.

After she had made her last push, Riah looked sleepily up at him and said very softly, “Victoria’s here.”

He leaned in and kissed her, glad it was all over, especially since her voice had been weak when she said that. He would never tell her how nerve-wracking this night had been for him, worse than any firefight or any torture. Casey declined to cut the cord, and the tiny, bloody, wriggling thing looked a little repulsive, he thought, another thing he wasn’t about to say to his wife, especially since Riah was smiling happily. Actually, it was a rather drunken smile. Casey would far rather have dealt with a drunken Riah than this. He was told to follow the nurse who carried his daughter, and he intently watched her every move while the woman cleaned his daughter and did some other things he didn’t really care about. The nurse diapered and dressed her, put a stupid-looking knit cap on her, then turned to tell him to wash his hands. Casey did as ordered while he considered the surprising number of bossy women in his life.

Victoria was handed to him, the nurse briefly telling him how to hold her as she placed the baby in his arms. He looked down at the tiny thing. She lay there, red-complexioned, curled in on herself, nothing special. Casey worried that he didn’t seem to feel anything for her, especially after that flood of emotion he’d felt during that first ultrasound, worried that he was more concerned about what might be happening to his wife than about the tiny girl he held, but then his daughter wriggled, those eyes very briefly opened, closed almost immediately, and he found himself suddenly grinning like a complete and utter idiot.

The woman told him his daughter was five pounds thirteen ounces and nineteen inches long. Casey knew only that she was under normal weight. He had no idea if nineteen inches was normal or not. Frankly, he wasn’t sure he cared.

He walked back to where his wife lay and sat on the edge of her bed. Casey handed Victoria to her; Riah’s smile was worth everything. She looked up at him and asked sleepily, “I suppose you counted all her fingers and toes?”

Casey snorted. “All accounted for,” he told her. He hadn’t, but he wasn’t about to argue. Riah stared at their child. When she finally looked up at him, he smiled at her and leaned in and kissed her. “I love you,” he whispered.

One of her hands came up and cupped his cheek. She whispered back, “I love you, too.”

They were taken to a room, and he followed. When they were left alone, Casey slid onto the bed with his wife. He pulled Riah into him, and they both lay watching their daughter sleep in Riah’s arms. Casey covered one of his wife’s hands with his. He knew their relationship would shift, that Victoria meant changes, but looking at the tiny girl, he didn’t think he’d mind.

With any luck, she’d be the kind of baby who cried little and learned to sleep the night through quickly.

Even as he thought it, Casey doubted they’d be so lucky.

Eventually, a nurse came and took the baby, and Riah rolled into Casey, settled her head on his shoulder. She dropped off to sleep almost immediately. He, however, couldn’t quite shut down yet, so he lay there and held her, wondered what the nurse was doing to their daughter and whether or not he ought to go see. He only dropped off himself after the nurse returned with a hospital bassinette holding Victoria and left it where Riah could reach her.

He snapped awake when the door opened again, admitted Lydia Pentangeli and a nurse. They woke Riah, checked her vital signs, but before Casey could berate the woman for not having been there when she should have been, his wife told her aunt, “I told you so.”

The other woman laughed. “And as I told you, Mariah, many women know better than we do.”

After her aunt and the nurse checked her over, they left them alone once more, and Riah drifted off again. Casey was on the edge of sleep when the door opened again and admitted Ellie Bartowski. _Woodcomb_ , he reminded himself. He always forgot her married name. Ellie wore a huge smile as she put a finger to her lips. “When I came on duty, I checked to see if she’d delivered yet,” she whispered. She leaned over Victoria and watched the baby a moment with a soft smile. “Congratulations, John,” she said with a brief touch on his forearm where it draped over Riah’s hip. “I’ll come back later when Mariah’s awake.”

He gave up on the idea of sleep when Ellie was followed not long after by a nurse’s assistant bringing Riah breakfast. He helped her sit up, and watched as she ate. Casey would eventually have to eat something. He decided that when her family arrived, he’d go home, shower, change and do so. Riah wanted to hold Victoria again when she finished, so he pushed the table away and helped her out of the bed. They both washed their hands as the nurses had told them to do before touching their daughter, and Riah climbed back in bed while he lifted Victoria carefully and handed her to her mother.

Riah was more alert now, and Casey envied her what rest she had managed to get. Considering she had done the hard part, he didn’t hold it against her.

“I expected it to hurt more,” Riah said. He shot a look at her. “Everyone always talks about how god-awful the pain is.” Her expression read earnestly honest. “It was never all that bad, more like an extreme case of cramps.”

Given the way her fingers dug into him as she endured a contraction, there was a hell of a lot more pain involved than she admitted. He wisely said nothing, though he wondered if there was something like labor amnesia that made her either forget that or dismiss it. Then it dawned on him that it hadn’t been what he expected, either. Riah had moaned and groaned some, but she had never screamed or looked like she was in extreme pain despite having clearly hurt. He felt a ridiculous pride in that.

Victoria made a squeaking noise and shifted, waved a little fist a time or two, and then stretched. She made another squeak. Casey watched a frown cross her tiny face. “Is she supposed to do that?”

Riah lifted a brow. “How would I know?” He was nonplussed for a few seconds, but then she confessed, “Emma’s the only baby I was ever around, and I wasn’t there all the time.” She gave a slight laugh. “Just because I’m a woman, John, it doesn’t mean I know any more about this than you do.”

It was all he could do to stop himself from saying she was supposed to know, that women were genetically bred nurturers, but then he realized not all women were. Casey had depended on Riah knowing what to do when their daughter was born, so it was more than a little disconcerting to realize she was as much in the dark about all of this as he was. He considered that, wondered how to solve that little problem. Uncomfortable though it made him, he remembered their mothers had both been through this, so he decided he’d suck it up and talk to his mother. He dismissed Ariel. After all, by her own admission, she had been an absent mother, so he doubted she could provide much useful guidance.

Two women, one obviously a nurse, joined them a little later, and the one who didn’t appear to be a nurse talked to Riah about whether she intended to breast or bottle feed Victoria. Casey was more than a little uncomfortable with the discussion, but he remained and remained silent. Riah told them she planned to breastfeed, so the woman and the nurse began explaining to Riah how to do it.

Casey felt a morbid fascination and an equally morbid repulsion while they talked about it right in front of him. The next thing he knew, they unsnapped the shoulder of Riah’s hospital gown—he had wondered why it was different than the hospital gowns he was used to—and put a pillow in her lap. The non-nurse talked the whole time, explained what to do while the nurse handed their daughter to her mother. Casey watched as Victoria finally latched onto Riah’s breast.

He thought about the times he had done that to Riah, thought about her reactions to him when he had, and he squirmed inwardly. There was no evidence this felt remotely the same for Riah, though, but Casey still wondered if he would ever be able to take her nipple in his mouth again without thinking about his daughter feeding.

Casey watched, mesmerized, as Victoria suckled, her tiny mouth moving against her mother’s pale breast.

When she was finished and the two women finally left, Riah blushed prettily. Casey leaned in and kissed her.

“Christ, Casey, she just gave birth, and you can’t even leave her alone long enough to recover.”

He lifted his mouth only far enough away from his wife’s to say, “Go away, V. H.” Casey kissed Riah again and then sat back.

Riah’s father carried a huge bouquet of roses, a small teddy bear and a bottle. He leaned down and kissed his daughter’s cheek before he gave Casey a mock glare. “Make yourself useful and find some cups,” V. H. told him.

Casey knew he wanted some time with Riah alone. He didn’t begrudge the other man that, so he went, stopped at the nurse’s station to ask about getting some paper cups. The nurse he spoke to asked why, so he told her. She gave him a look and primly stated that Riah was not to have alcohol. He assured her it wasn’t, and she grudgingly found cups for him.

When he re-entered the room, V. H. sat in the chair beside Riah’s bed and held his granddaughter. Riah’s bed was raised so she could sit comfortably. She leaned against the raised part, lay on her side watching her father and daughter. Casey put the cups next to the bottle of sparkling cider on the table and slid behind his wife on the bed so that he was spooned up against her.

“You two do good work,” V. H. said.

Casey grunted agreement as Riah slid a hand over his and linked their fingers.

Riah’s father lifted a dark brow and asked, “Are you still going to name her Victoria?”

“Yes,” Riah told him.

V. H. smiled at her. “I’m surprised you’re letting him name your daughter after his car.”

“We aren’t naming her after the car,” Riah said testily.

Casey stayed out of the bickering exchange that followed. He must have drifted off because the plastic cork coming out of the bottle startled him enough he instinctively reached for a weapon. V. H. laughed. “You’ve got a lot of sleepless nights ahead of you, Casey. Sleep while you can.”

He accepted a cup of the cider as did Riah. Victoria was back in her bassinette, sleeping. Casey was glad the cider wasn’t sickeningly sweet when he drank in response to V. H.’s toast. He enjoyed the taste more when he leaned in and kissed his wife. “Seriously,” V. H. said in a mock-cranky voice, “I really don’t need further evidence that you molest my daughter.”

Once more Casey opened his mouth over Riah’s, kissed her deeply. Her hands crept up his chest before she slid them into his hair. She was deeply flushed when he released her mouth, and she went a darker shade of red when Casey told her father, his mouth a fraction of an inch from hers, “I don’t molest your daughter.”

“I’ll amend that to I’d really rather not think about what you’ve done—will continue to do—to my daughter.”

“Dad,” Riah groaned. Casey heard the embarrassment in her voice. He assumed her father did as well, since V. H. dropped that line of discussion to ask if they would stay in their apartment or would move somewhere bigger. That had been a very long series of conversations early in Riah’s pregnancy, but they had both realized that because Casey had to stay close to Chuck, especially since Bartowski’s fake relationship with Walker was off again every three to four weeks, they would have to stay put. Riah had pointed out that the NSA had spent a small fortune turning theirs into a fortress, and that would be not only difficult to undo but expensive. Beckman had seconded that when it came up during a briefing.

“We’ll stay where we are while we’re in Los Angeles,” Riah told V. H.

Her father didn’t stay much longer. When he left, he told them he’d be back later in the day. V. H. told her he’d spoken to her mother, who intended to come as soon as she could but had warned it might be evening before she made it.

Casey considered calling his own mother again when V. H. was gone, but Riah snuggled into him. She ran a hand up over his jaw, scratched at his stubble with her nails, and said, “I like you scruffy.”

He snorted. “Don’t get used to it.” He’d rarely been anything but clean-shaven.

She stretched along him, settled even closer to him, and mumbled sleepily, “You should go get some food, maybe some real rest.”

“Later,” he promised. He figured Ariel would bring Emma with her, and he’d leave them to gush over Victoria. He should probably find out when his mother was coming in, and he should probably call Walker and let her know what was going on.

Somewhere during his mental checklist, he went to sleep.

 

_Déjà vu_ was Casey’s first thought when he roused to a cranky nurse telling him he shouldn’t be sleeping in his wife’s bed. He growled at her before he could stop it, and she looked taken aback. She stammered that the chair was a recliner; he could sleep there if he wanted. Riah placated her, but Casey stubbornly stayed where he was. He’d take a play from Riah’s visit to him in Germany, he decided, and if the nurse wanted to make a federal case of it, he’d oblige her.

He shifted though, since Riah needed to get up and wash her hands. Apparently, they were going to make her nurse Victoria on a strictly regulated schedule.

As he watched Victoria latch on, he found it less uncomfortable to watch his wife nurse their child than he had the first time. When she moved Victoria to her other breast, Casey stroked a light finger over his daughter’s cheek and wondered when they could take the stupid pink, white, and blue striped hat off her.

Casey heard voices in the hall. He easily recognized both of their mother’s voices, Emma’s, too. Easing off the bed, he went and intercepted them. Emma flung her arms around him before he could fend her off. Catching Ariel’s amused expression, as he awkwardly held his arms out while Emma squeezed the hell out of him, he considered appropriate revenge. Riah would kill him, though, so he let it go, patted Emma’s back a couple of times and was greatly relieved when his sister-in-law let him go.

His mother’s hug was much easier to accept. Ariel, thankfully, decided not to test her luck. Instead, she smiled, and said, “You look like hell, Casey.”

Regretfully, he couldn’t honestly tell her she did, too, so he ignored the dig, certain his sleepless night, rumpled clothes and unshaven face gave credence to her statement. Instead, he gave her a mildly sarcastic, “Thanks.”

Emma’s irrepressible grin appeared. “How’re my sister and niece?”

“Riah’s feeding her,” he admitted with a grin of his own. “You can go in when she finishes.”

As the nurse left the room, he spied Bartowski and Walker getting off the elevator, so he sent their mothers and Emma inside while he went to meet his partner and the Intersect. Walker carried a small duffle she handed him. “Clean clothes and a razor,” she told him. He nodded thanks, remembered the last time she had done this and was completely grateful the circumstances were not remotely the same.

“How are they?”

There was something on Walker’s face that reminded him of the day Riah had told her and Bartowski she was pregnant, and Casey wondered again what that pinched look meant. “Fine,” he said. “Riah’s sister and Ariel are in there at the moment.” He was so used to not admitting to a family that he had to make himself add that his mother was there as well.

Bartowski gave him a look that told him the kid still, deep down, believed Casey had probably been hatched rather than raised by actual people. Casey buried his instinctive sarcasm. While Bartowski and Walker looked at Victoria, chatted to Riah, he dropped the duffle in a corner and stood back and watched. When Riah told Chuck what they were naming their daughter, Walker simply shot him an amused look, but Bartowski’s urge to babble kicked in. “Seriously? Victoria Reagan? What kind of torture made Mariah agree to that?”

Casey let loose a feral grin and said with careful menace, “You really don’t want to know, Bartowski.”

After all, if Riah’s father could insist Casey had seduced her into that name, he could work with that when it came to Bartowski. The kid didn’t need to know it had been the other way around—at least where the Victoria part came in. Something in his expression apparently made Chuck decide to leave it at that.

Walker gave him a more genuine smile this time, touched his shoulder and said, “Congratulations, Casey,” before she took Bartowski home.

He decided he’d let his wife bond with the women in the room, so he drew Emma aside, told her he was going to get something to eat while they kept Riah company. Casey headed to the cafeteria. He should probably go home, but he didn’t want to go far. The food was edible, though they were serving nothing that particularly appealed to him. He ate because he needed to, and then he made his way back to his wife’s room. There was a shower in the bathroom off her room, and he’d use it when everyone left. The pissy nurse could just deal.

His mother held Victoria when he re-entered the room. Riah lay back in the bed, and Emma had staked a claim on the chair. Ariel stood next to her daughter’s bed. His eyes met Riah’s. His mother handed him his daughter when he’d washed his hands and kissed his cheek. “She’s beautiful, Johnny,” she told him softly.

Casey looked down at his daughter and agreed. He crossed to Riah and sat on the edge of her bed.

When they left, Casey hoped that was the last of the company for a while. He could use the quiet, and, looking at Riah, he suspected she could as well.

After settling Victoria into the bassinette once more, he lay down beside his wife, breathed in, and said, “Let’s sleep while we can.”

 

In the early evening as Riah finished her dinner, Ellie turned up once more, her Ken Doll in tow.

Casey had already figured out they would have no peace in the hospital, so when her aunt checked in on them once more, he followed Lydia into the hall and asked how long Riah would have to remain in the hospital. Her aunt told him a couple of days at a minimum. Then she’d drawn him farther from Riah’s door and talked to him about her concerns for postpartum depression. She warned that given Riah’s predisposition to depression under normal circumstances, she was worried about her niece. She gave Casey a list a things to watch for, urged him to call her if anything seemed remotely wrong, and then told him her niece might well be fine but he needed to be vigilant.

When he finally took a shower and shaved, Riah griped, mainly because they wouldn’t let her do the same—shower that was. Toward eleven, she suggested he go home, get some sleep. Casey had already figured out they were going to wake her periodically, but he didn’t think it fair that he’d get to sleep the night through when she couldn’t. As a result, he stayed.

Their family were in and out the next day, and Casey learned to change diapers right alongside Riah, to her amusement. He knew she thought he’d dodge the job as much as possible, but since he’d be the one in and out at irregular intervals, he decided he’d do his share when he was present.

Mostly, though, Victoria slept the first few days of her life away. He was surprised she rarely cried, and Casey wondered if his daughter was simply lulling them into a false sense of security before they took her home where there would be no one there to help.

When he said as much to Riah, she had grinned and then laughed. “Babies aren’t insurgents, John.”

He snorted then cocked a brow. “Sure about that?”

She blinked and her face blanked. He could see the wheels turn. “No,” Riah admitted.

Casey tried to figure out if she was humoring him.

The morning they were to be released, Casey realized neither he nor Riah had remembered to buy a car seat. He kissed his wife and left her to go do so. Then he had to figure out how to get the damned thing buckled securely into the back seat of the Vic. It irritated him that he had to resort to reading a poorly written set of instructions to figure it out—especially since the drawings were little help. He decided then he’d buy a second one for Riah’s car rather than have to move it back and forth.

Riah moaned in pleasure when they let her take a shower that morning. Casey was amused by that reaction. He held his daughter while her mother took the longest shower he could remember Riah ever taking. Victoria was a little more active, moved more, and her eyes remained mostly open. Casey watched her as he held her against his chest. He’d noticed she seemed to like being held closely. Riah claimed she liked hearing another heartbeat. He didn’t know if that was true or not, but Victoria seemed happiest against one of her parents.

His mother rode home with them. She’d decided to stay the first couple of days, and Casey was grateful even though he had looked forward to having his wife and daughter to himself.

Once they were inside, Riah refused to go upstairs. “No more beds for a while,” she told him, and since she coupled it with that look of hers, Casey said nothing further, took their things upstairs and left her in the living room with their daughter and his mother.

If he thought being home would stop the visitors, he was mistaken. Ellie and Woodcomb turned up that evening, and so did Bartowski, Grimes in tow. Casey’s teeth gritted when Riah let the Bearded Barnacle hold their daughter, but then he watched, amazed, as the kid turned into someone else. There was no baby talk out of Grimes’s mouth. Instead, he talked to Casey’s daughter as if she were an intelligent being. What made it worse, though, was that Victoria seemed to like “Uncle Morgan,” since she did that squeaking thing she often did when she was content. She wasn’t happy when Grimes handed her to her mother.

After they settled in for the night, Casey pulled Riah close. Since it was the first time they were alone—if he didn’t count Victoria asleep in the cradle on Riah’s side of the bed—he told his wife, “I’ll be here when I can. I’ll do what you need.”

Riah snorted sleepily. “I knew that, John.”

“I won’t leave you to do this alone if I can help it.”

“I know.”

Her tone said she was humoring him. Casey was only mildly irritated by that. Then he realized he wasn’t getting to the point very well. He breathed in, gathered his courage, and simply spilled. “I want us to have as normal a life as we can, and I want our daughter to have a normal life. I can’t tell you everything, and we can’t tell her much, but I want this to work—without endangering you or her.”

She moved, lifted her head and searched his face. “John, what are you trying to tell me?”

There was a tinge of fear there, and he realized he was making a complete mess of this. He breathed in, let it go, did it again, while he searched for the right words. Why he suddenly felt the need to confess sins, Casey wasn’t sure, but he did. Then he stepped back. Some of those sins couldn’t be confessed or absolved, and he would be wise to let them stay hidden. He regrouped and simply told her, “It all changes now.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not you, not Victoria,” he admitted, glad that was true and he could admit it. “Riah, I worry about when I can’t be here.”

“There will always be a Gray Laurance, a Delaney, a Finley, a Fulcrum or a Ring,” she said quietly. “I know that. But I’m not a player in this game anymore, John, and that should provide some protection.”

“Some,” he conceded, “but you and Victoria will always be leverage, and I’m never going to be completely comfortable with that.”

“You don’t have to be,” she said quietly, “because I won’t be, either, but at least, unlike many wives of men who do what you do, I’m a little better equipped to handle the possibilities.”

Riah had the training, Casey admitted, and then he caught her amusement and switched gears. “Yeah, well, that arsenal is what might help keep you both alive.”  
His wife didn’t take the bait, kissed him before she settled back against him. On the edge of sleep, Casey wondered if his crack might be prophecy.


	33. Chapter 33

Early one morning, Casey wondered if babies could be made to cry on demand. When he asked Riah, she had given him a tired, puzzled look. “Think about,” he urged, watching her nurse their daughter at two-thirty in the morning. “Nothing disrupts sleep patterns more, and you could get anyone to spill their guts after several rounds.”

She shook her head, snorted, and ignored him. After a moment, she apparently thought better of it, commented, “Victoria doesn’t really cry that much, John.”

There was truth in that, Casey acknowledged, though Riah didn’t have to sound so smug about it. Victoria made noise to get their attention, but she rarely cried. He’d been relieved to not live the stereotype of walking the floor all night with a bawling baby, but he also worried at first that the fact that Victoria didn’t bawl might mean something was wrong. Of course, the reason she wasn’t a bawler might be because one or the other of them tended to pick her up if she even sounded like she might. Even when she did cry, it didn’t last long and sounded more like a quiet wail followed by a bad case of the hiccups. If he had to have a mutant child, he supposed he’d take lack of screaming and crying over the other possibilities.

Now if they could only do something about the toxic waste frequently found in her diapers. Weaponizing that, Casey told his wife as he changed their daughter, could lead to serious advancements in military science. Riah sighed, rolled over, and ignored him.

His two-week-old daughter, though, wriggled enthusiastically. “What do you think, kiddo?” he asked softly. “Interested in dirty bombing the Taliban?”

Riah groaned, but Victoria squeaked happily.

“What?” he growled at his wife. “She likes the idea.”

“No,” Riah corrected, “ _you_ like the idea. _She_ just likes the sound of your voice.”

Scooping Victoria up, he leaned over Riah and nibbled on her neck before he said against her ear in the tone and pitch that usually made her a puddle, “You like it, too.”

“That’s not fair,” she grumbled, rolling over to take Victoria. “Don’t do things like that when there won’t be any follow through.” He grinned and went to dispose of the biohazard before washing his hands.

When he came back to bed, Riah was sound asleep on her back with Victoria lying on her stomach, the baby’s head over her mother’s heart. Casey was counting weeks until he could make love to his wife. Lydia had told him she didn’t agree with the prevailing notion that four or five weeks were necessary before they resumed sex. He’d cringed, inwardly squirmed as she explained that some research indicated resuming marital relations after about two to three weeks was beneficial to more quickly returning the uterus to its normal state. Casey had desperately wanted to change the subject from his wife’s lady parts, but he listened even though he didn’t intend to do anything that might harm Riah. He’d go with the traditional waiting period just to be sure, especially since he wasn’t entirely certain Lydia hadn’t simply told him that to watch him squirm. Riah’s aunt had a peculiarly sadistic streak where he and sex with his wife was concerned.

Now that he thought about it, practically her entire family seemed to be obsessed with their sex life.

“Back to sleep,” he told Victoria as he kissed her fuzzy head before he returned to her cradle. She squeaked. Casey hoped she’d drop off quickly.

He gathered his wife to him when he was back in bed and went to sleep himself.

 

For reasons of her own, his mother stayed until Thanksgiving, and so did Ariel. Casey suspected his mother had decided to make sure he knew what he was doing before she left him with her granddaughter. Casey noticed she didn’t seem to question Riah’s abilities as a parent, which meant, he told his wife one afternoon, that she ought to point out to his mother that Riah didn’t know everything simply because she was female. His wife just snorted and shook her head.

As a result of their mothers’ extended stay, one or the other of them seemed to always be underfoot. Casey had to admit it wasn’t quite the level of torture he had expected, and spending an extended amount of time with Jane Casey for the first time in decades let him reconnect with her in ways that scattered phone calls and flying visits hadn’t.

Ariel flew his family in for the holiday and hosted the meal at her house. Riah told him she was just happy not to have to manage the meal for once, though he noticed she had to bite back a few comments about how her mother had chosen to do things. Since Emma’s university was on the quarter system, she was off until January, so she offered to stay and lend a hand with her niece when the others left. Riah thanked her for the offer then found a way to make it clear she’d like to be alone with her daughter and her husband that didn’t offend her sister.

Casey was amused by that since after a week of having him constantly looking over her shoulder, she’d had a word with General Beckman, who had, as she had done after Gaza, begun sending him reports for analysis. He didn’t mind lending the NSA a few hours a day when he could do it with Riah and Victoria nearby. It also kept him from getting too restless.

When his mother suggested one afternoon that he take Riah out somewhere, give her a break, his wife had whispered, “Gun range.” Casey was pretty sure his mother had had quieter pursuits in mind. He’d blown the hell out of some targets, so had Riah, and then he’d taken her to dinner at their favorite Italian place. It wasn’t the same as shooting bad guys, but it would do in a pinch. Unfortunately, he liked the sight of his wife with a gun a little too much. Riah, when she caught on, had smiled seductively at him. “The smell of spent cartridges and gun oil puts you in the mood?”

“You do,” he corrected. The gun and the scents that went with it didn’t hurt any.

Still, as he sat at Ariel’s table, surrounded by his family and the handful of hers present, Casey wondered what his life might have been like had he chosen differently years before. He looked at Emma, realized he could well have had a child or two her age, but when his wife laughed at some outrageous declaration from Julie, he decided he had made the right choice twenty years before. Even if he had chosen differently then, it didn’t mean he’d be somewhere like this, surrounded by people he loved and who loved him back despite his flaws.

Finally left alone with their daughter, he and Riah found a comfortable routine. Victoria was sleeping for marginally longer periods, and one afternoon Casey thought Lydia might have something when Riah took advantage of Victoria’s nap to touch and kiss every single inch of him. He decided to check into Lydia’s notion when Riah’s mouth finished its task. After all, it seemed unfair to be the only one to benefit from her mood.

Before he got the chance, though, V. H. turned up on their doorstep.

His father-in-law played with his granddaughter, talked to his daughter, and uncharacteristically didn’t make comments about Casey molesting Riah. Casey had a feeling this was more than just a chance to visit his daughter and granddaughter, but he didn’t push. V. H. would tell them what he was there for in his own time, and if Casey pushed, it would only take longer for the man to do so. When Riah went upstairs to feed Victoria, V. H. kept Casey in the living room. “I’m about to make the two of you very unhappy.” Before Casey could ask how, his father-in-law ordered, “Call your boss. Now.”

“I assume Adderly has explained,” General Beckman said when he’d done so, peered at him through the monitor.

“Not yet,” Casey grunted, but he had a very bad feeling, particularly since V. H. had waited until his daughter was out of earshot.

“Mr. Adderly?”

V. H. turned to Casey and said, “Your leave is over. There’s been a breach at ISI. Someone stole the Montreal Project files.”

“That’s your problem, not ours,” Casey told him. He knew where this was going, so he began running contingencies to protect his wife.

“There was a simultaneous breach at the CIA,” Beckman told him tightly. “They took the Intersect files and the ones on Orion.”

If there was good news, Casey couldn’t find it. If this had been a coordinated effort, then they probably had enough to connect the dots to Chuck Bartowski and then connect them to Riah. “So Bartowski’s going on lockdown,” he said. “Walker and one of the CIA teams has that.” At least he didn’t have to suffer through the inevitable babble that would result from that bit of news.

“No, Casey,” Beckman said, “we intend to leave Chuck Bartowski where he is. If we move him, then we confirm any suspicions they have. If we leave him where he is, then they’ll come after him.”

“Bait.” Casey sighed. Riah wouldn’t gripe if he had to be in Bartowski’s pocket, and at least he wouldn’t be leaving her home alone.

“My daughter, on the other hand,” V. H. said, “is going home with me.”

“The hell she is,” Casey bit out, moving instantaneously from irritated to furious. If moving Bartowski exposed him, then surely the same was true for Riah. He remembered the last time they had used her as bait, and he wasn’t letting that happen to her ever again. He’d made very specific promises regarding that—to the man standing in front of him.

“The hell she’s not,” V. H. returned firmly but without the anger with which Casey had infused his version. “She and Bartowski are equally at risk, and your loyalties don’t need to be divided. I can hide her and Victoria while you focus on your own problem.”

“Walker can take the asset, especially since the CIA bungled this. I’ll protect my wife and daughter,” he growled, emphasizing _protect_ since his family would likely need to be more than simply hidden. There was no way in hell he was letting the two of them out of his sight.

“I’ve got many excellent operatives and any number of places that are difficult to get to where they can go to ground. Your assignment is Bartowski, and you’re staying with it.”

“One good reason,” Casey demanded.

“Because Bartowski works,” V. H. said. “Mariah never really did. He’s the more likely target, the more useful one, but if she’s here, they get the Intersect _and_ a potential Intersect.”

“Riah _does_ work,” he shot back and then wished he could retract that since it simply made her father’s case for him.

“Gentlemen.”

Casey seethed. It was true that Bartowski was the most likely target, if for no other reason than he could be used against his father. That made Ellie a target as well, and Ellie’s suspicions had grown deeper recently. Her brother was gone a lot, he and Walker still appeared joined at the hip despite the fact that she disappeared for long periods and the strain between them was obvious to even a blind man. Casey knew Ellie thought Chuck was hiding something. If she suddenly saw a lot of new faces, faces that hung around with her brother and ones that, as Walker’s father had once put it, had obvious “cop” faces, it wouldn’t take her long to start piecing things together she really didn’t need to know. That endangered them all.

“Colonel, it’s true you’re on leave, and it’s true that you can refuse,” Beckman said, “but I need you on this assignment. When it’s over, we can extend your leave, work something out, but Adderly and I agree it’s best to let him take your wife and child into ISI’s protection while you and Walker coordinate Mr. Bartowski’s and his family’s security.”

Casey’s jaw set, and he narrowed his eyes at V. H. He could refuse, but Beckman could retaliate in very legal ways that would, essentially, end his career or at the very least consign him to backwaters until he decided to opt for retirement. He could agree, and while his wife would probably be seriously upset, Riah would let him do his duty. For a moment, he thought about what he’d told her the year before, that for once in her life she should have been selfish. He wanted to exercise that particular option himself.

But that wasn’t who he was, and the truth was that he wasn’t going to leave Bartowski to the fumbling ineptness of some idiot like Robert Kavanaugh or whoever else Beckman chose to watch the kid. Walker could do it, but she couldn’t do it alone. V. H. would make sure Riah and Victoria were safe, and even if he won the argument to keep her here, Casey knew Chuck would have to be his first priority, which left Riah vulnerable.

“Fine.” Casey eyed V. H. “Anything happens to either of them, I will end you.”

“You realize that’s a prosecutable offence,” his father-in-law told him.

“We’re not in Canada.” Casey took a step closer to the older man. “And that’s a promise, not a threat,” he added with soft menace. He gave the man a hard glare. “You get to tell your daughter.”

It wasn’t cowardice, Casey reminded himself; it was self-preservation—not to mention punishment for V. H. He knew Riah was going to refuse, would argue hard before she gave in because she had no real choice, so her father could just take the brunt of it.

“Tell me what?”

Riah had Victoria with her. Watching them, Casey wondered how bad the fireworks were going to be. “Colonel, I’ll expect you in Castle as soon as possible.” Beckman was gone while Casey wondered if his boss was seeking cover despite being thousands of miles away.

Beckman’s words had Riah looking at him expectantly. “Where is she sending you?” she asked. Casey noticed she didn’t seem pissed off—yet.

“Not me,” he answered.

V. H. rubbed his gloved left hand. “You and Victoria are coming with me, Mariah.”

“No, Dad, we’re not.” Riah’s voice was firm and emotionless.

“Yes,” her father told her, “you are. Mariah, I’m sorry, but Casey’s going to have his hands full with the Intersect, and that leaves you vulnerable.”

She looked at Casey then. He sighed, read her confusion. What worried him more, though, was the light that flared briefly, the one that said she’d want to help. “Tell her the rest.”

“Honey, someone took the Montreal Project files,” her father told her. “The Americans had a related breach. ISI will protect you while Casey and the Americans will take Bartowski and his family.”

Riah had paled at the mention of the Montreal Project. “ISI can protect me here. For that matter, I can protect myself.” She paled further, and then her eyes met Casey’s. “You’re worried about having both me and Chuck in the same place.”

“I can’t watch both of you.”

He could see it, could see that she really wanted to deny that, but he relaxed when he saw she was going to give in without much of a fight. “ _Fine_ ,” she spat, and then she turned to her father. “I’m going to Witless Bay.”

V. H. shook his head. “A lot of people know about that,” he began.

She cut him off, and there was an edge of vicious in her voice Casey was very happy to not have directed at him. “The house is secure and isolated. You can put your men on the grounds easily enough, and there are at least three possible avenues of escape if it becomes necessary.”

“And those three avenues are also vulnerabilities when it comes to protecting you,” V. H. countered.

“I’m not taking my daughter to one of ISI’s safe houses—I’ve seen them.” Casey’s lips twitched. Television and movies typically made safe houses look like comfortable upper-middle class homes, but they rarely were. “And I’m not going to your house, either,” she assured her father. “It may be a fortress, but enough people come and go that Victoria and I will never get a moment’s peace.” She sighed. “I’m well aware my apartment’s out, too, and why, so if I have to go hide, I want to do it somewhere familiar and comfortable.”

“Mariah—“

“No, Dad,” she told him firmly. “It’s Witless Bay, or I stay here. The security problems there are fewer than many other possibilities, and if I have to be there through the holidays, then at least Victoria gets to spend Christmas somewhere that’s actually hers.”

_Hell_ , Casey thought. Christmas. Their first Christmas as a family. Victoria’s first Christmas. His wife didn’t like Christmas any better than she liked birthdays, he remembered, but Casey had planned to give her a happy holiday. He had spent most of the Christmases of his adult life on duty, first in the military because he was single and it allowed the married men to be with their families, and then later with the NSA because terrorists and other enemies of state didn’t tend to take holidays off.

If they were lucky, this would be over within a week, two maximum, and she and Victoria would be home where they belonged by then. So far, the Ring had been relatively easily foiled, something that made Casey hold them in contempt even as he admired their tenacity. He’d wondered if they were testing them, a few feints to see how they reacted to danger, to threats, before they went for the big prize. He was fairly certain Bartowski was that prize, which made Riah’s vulnerabilities of greater concern. After all, they might just decide to settle for Door Number Two.

Without another word, Riah handed him Victoria and went back upstairs—to pack, he presumed.

V. H. took his granddaughter. “Go talk to her. I’ll mind Victoria.”

What he found when he reached their bedroom wasn’t at all what Casey expected. Instead of his wife angrily shoving clothes in cases, Riah sat on her side of the bed, hunched in on herself. Casey silently closed the door when he noticed her shoulders shook.

His wife didn’t cry often, much like their daughter, but she was doing so now. It would be easy to dismiss it as hormones, as post-partum depression, but Casey knew it wasn’t. He sat slowly down beside her and pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her, and leaned his cheek against the top of her head.

She pulled herself back together quickly, but Riah sniffed and her voice was thick when she finally spoke: “I don’t want to go.”

He sighed, kissed her hair. “I don’t want you to, but you and Victoria will be safer if you do.”

“I don’t work,” Riah whispered. “They can’t want me. I’m a failed experiment.”

“No,” Casey told her softly, “you aren’t. You certainly worked when Kellett showed you those pictures. ISI just didn’t finish the job.” Her face was still wet when she looked up at him. Casey wiped at her cheeks then kissed her. “They want something, and given what they took from us and from ISI, they apparently want an Intersect. You’re valuable because you’re different than Bartowski.”

As he said it, he realized it was true. Bartowski wasn’t functioning at the moment because he was emotionally all over the map. Someone had changed his father’s designs, and the result was the Intersect malfunctioned now that someone unlike the person or persons for whom it had been engineered had it. Riah, though, had something different, something quieter, something that wasn’t as obvious when it was triggered. If the two could be merged, a smoothly functioning Intersect that didn’t make the user physically react might be a better instrument.

Casey wasn’t about to say that to Riah, though, wasn’t about to feed whatever she was feeling—and not simply because he didn’t want her to cry again. “Beckman gave me an out,” he told her. “I could still take it.”

She shook her head. “No, John, it’s important. Do your job. I’ll go back to Canada and hibernate.” She kissed him, then added, “I’ve got to pack, and you’ve got to go.”

“Riah—“

“No, John. The decision’s been made.” She stood, gave him a sad smile. “Don’t get killed.”

He stood, too, put his hands on the slope of her hips. “I think this time I’m the one who ought to be saying that.”

“I suspect they’re more interested in the files than in me.” Riah slipped her arms around his waist and leaned into him. “I have to be manually triggered. All they need are the details.”

It was an opportunity Casey couldn’t ignore, tasteless though it might be, but he couldn’t guarantee when he might see her next. He’d see if what Lydia said was true, he decided, so he put a dirty spin on the words when he offered, “I’ll manually trigger you.”

She gave a watery little laugh. “Going to listen to Lydia after all?”

So it wasn’t exactly manual, Casey thought, but there were triggers involved on both sides. Afterward, he asked if she was okay, and her entire body was engaged in the kiss Riah answered him with. He decided this had been a miscalculation on his part since he was now even more reluctant to let her go.

But Beckman waited, and so did V. H.

“Seriously,” she said softly, stroked his cheek. “Don’t get killed, John.”

As he always did, he told her, “I’ll try not to.” He kissed her. “You try not to as well.”

They both dressed, and they both packed, Riah for Canada, Casey for the job. When they went downstairs, V. H.’s expression said he knew exactly what had taken so long. Casey appreciated the fact that for once his father-in-law made no cracks. Riah took Victoria, and Casey kissed them both before nodding at her father and leaving. He tried not to mind that his wife looked like the tears would start again the second he cleared the door.

 

Bartowski freaked out. Casey should have predicted it, but of late the kid rolled with whatever the spy life threw at him. He suspected Chuck’s problem was the family connection. Casey knew he worried about his father and about Ellie and her husband. He and Walker wasted precious time calming the asset before they could make and implement plans. By the time the two teams Beckman sent them got there, the kid was calm again, and they briefed all the players without any references to the Intersect.

It was only as Casey followed Bartowski back to the Buy More that Chuck asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be off for a few more weeks?”

“Duty calls,” Casey said. He was too busy trying to figure out how to explain his supposed desire to return to retail hell early to Big Mike in such a way he wouldn’t question it, especially after Casey had threatened a lawsuit when the man balked at allowing him to take the unpaid leave in the first place—particularly since it would span the heaviest shopping period of the year.

“But—“

He was going to have to give Bartowski more of an answer than the _Can it_ he wanted to grunt. Chuck would only pick at it until Casey explained, so he decided to save a little time. “Your safety takes precedence over my personal life, Bartowski. It’s the rules of the game.”

“So personal time doesn’t mean—“

“Squat,” Casey finished, though Chuck would have taken about seventy more words to say the same thing. “You’re my assignment, Chuck, and I’m needed.”

“Mariah—“

“Is going to Canada for a while,” he said. There was no reason to induce another freak out. “She’s taking Victoria to her father’s.” It wasn’t exactly true, but it was close enough.

Bartowski stopped cold. “You two didn’t break up over this, did you?”

Trust the kid to go to worst-case scenario, Casey thought.

“Not everything’s about you, Chuck,” Casey said, and as he watched the empathy flood Bartowski’s face then switch to horror, he realized the kid was going for a world-record in Leap to Conclusions. “Riah’s equally in danger,” Casey gritted. “She’s safer where the focus can be on her, not you. That’s all.”

Big Mike did some world-class leaping to conclusions of his own when Casey told him he’d like to come back early, but since they fit with his plan, Casey didn’t disabuse him. The store manager simply assumed Casey was bored and Riah wanted him out from underfoot. Casey would return to work the next day, and he made sure he got the same schedule as Bartowski for the foreseeable future.

After Chuck finished his shift under Casey’s watchful eye from Castle, they travelled back to Echo Park together. Casey let Walker carry the conversation with Bartowski. He didn’t look forward to going home to an empty apartment. He was in the middle of calculating how long it might take his family to reach Newfoundland and then Riah’s house when he caught the tail. He said nothing, watched the late model sedan stay in textbook range, but to test his theory, Casey took a different route than the one he often did. This one was longer, and while it increased the possibility something might go wrong, it gave him a chance to confirm what he suspected. He noticed the car traded off with a small SUV a couple of times.

Since he didn’t want to alarm Bartowski, he decided to continue his silence. The kid was used to Casey varying the route. However, he was going to have to tip Walker off, especially since he wasn’t certain he shouldn’t turn them around and put Chuck in Castle for the foreseeable future. Ellie’s detail should already be in place, so she was likely fine. Casey decided to simply follow through with going home, let the tails think he hadn’t made them.

When they were a couple of blocks away from the apartment complex, he told Walker. “Bogeys. I’m pulling up to the courtyard. Get him out and get him inside my place as quickly as possible.”

He chose to ignore Bartowski’s yelps, let Walker soothe the concern. Casey checked with Ellie’s team, who were, indeed, in place. He pulled the Vic up in front of the archway leading to the courtyard and parked. It was a no-parking zone, but Casey ignored that for the moment. He got out, told Bartowski to stay in the car, and surveyed the area, looked for the sedan or the SUV as Walker got out as well. “Go,” he told her when he spotted the sedan pull up much further down the street. She got Chuck out of the car while Casey put his hands on each of the two weapons he wore and continued to watch for anyone who didn’t belong.

When they had a babbling Bartowski in Casey’s living room, he continued to ignore Chuck while he called in the two vehicles and the partial plate he’d managed to get on the SUV. Casey got one of Ellie’s detail to babysit his front door while he moved his car.

By the time he returned, Bartowski and Walker were bickering about whether or not Chuck should stay at Casey’s or should go to his own apartment with Walker in lockstep. Casey voted for Castle, but he didn’t say so. They’d have to transport him back, and that had risks. Plus, explaining to Ellie why her brother disappeared would be painful. An extended absence would be hard to explain to her in any way that made sense and didn’t help her correctly add the two and two she’d already been trying to add.

Some of the advantages of keeping Bartowski in Casey’s apartment were the same as those in Castle—his apartment was fortified, and as the Delany incident and the evening Woodcomb became aware of who and what Chuck was had proven, the security measures worked. There were no such measures in the Bartowski apartment. There would be a whole new set of lies for Ellie, though, if Chuck, essentially, moved into Casey’s apartment—especially since Riah was gone.

How did his life get so complicated and not involve at least a battalion of heavily armed and well-trained soldiers or assassins? Why did it just take one long, skinny nerd with a head full of government secrets? For a moment, Casey longed for the relative ease of combat.

He cut the ongoing argument off. “He stays at his place. The two of you need to make up convincingly enough for Ellie to buy that Walker’s sleeping with you for the foreseeable future—every night.” Casey gave Bartowski a look that cut off the asset’s instinctive protest. “It’s that or Castle.”

Not surprisingly, Chuck chose home over the equivalent of a bunker.

In the meantime, Bartowski and Walker put on quite a show when they went to the Woodcomb’s. Ellie was thrilled they’d patched it up. Casey settled in for the kind of surveillance he hadn’t done for the better part of a year. Earphones on and video feeds active, he ate the soup he’d reheated and wondered what Riah might have fixed for dinner if she’d been home.

 

Casey really should have given more thought to how to manage Ellie, though. The next morning as he met Walker and Bartowski in the courtyard, Ellie came out with them. She started to head toward Casey’s apartment with a casual, “I need to talk to Mariah about Christmas dinner.”

He froze. His eyes met Walker’s. “Riah’s gone,” Casey blurted. He had no idea how he was going to explain her absence.

“ _Gone_?” Ellie’s voice shot up as she came back and stopped in front of him. “Gone where?”

At least he had a truthful answer for that one. “Canada.”

A frown creased Ellie’s face. “Victoria’s only three weeks old, John. Why would she travel so far with a baby that young?”

He could hardly tell her the real reason, and Casey had just about decided to use a dead grandmother excuse when he remembered that had been the cover for that trip to Banff. His mind raced to find a rational explanation. Casey wished he’d thought to ask Riah, who was much better at things like this.

“She went to register Victoria’s Canadian citizenship,” Walker offered hesitantly.

As long as Ellie didn’t know Riah wouldn’t have had to leave Los Angeles to do that, it would do to cover his wife’s absence. “Riah wanted her to have dual citizenship as she does,” Casey added. He owed Walker for the save.

“Oh.” Ellie frowned harder. Casey could tell she was going to pick at it, try to figure out what was wrong with that explanation. "Will they be back for Christmas?”

“Hopefully.” Then he added, “If not, I’ll join them.”

Ellie seemed satisfied though still troubled by that. Casey called his wife when he arrived at work, told her how they had covered her absence, and she assured him that if Ellie called her, she’d reinforce it. They talked a few moments more, and then Casey went to do his job.

 

\-------X-------

 

Mariah fought the blackness minute by minute. She tried to tell herself it wouldn’t be the first miserable Christmas she had spent in her life, but after the previous year, she had had hopes, especially now, especially now that she had a family of her own. She had looked forward to creating traditions, to spending it with John, especially since she was well aware he might not be able to spend many holidays with her and Victoria. Unfortunately, as the days crept slowly closer to Christmas, she felt keenly the distance between her and John. The thousands of miles that separated them eroded her emotions like water, one steady drip with every heartbeat.

John called every night, but it was cold comfort. Sometimes he called her during the day, and those were the calls Mariah treasured most, the ones that were just because—just because he missed her, just because he thought of her, just because he wanted to tell her something.

She sat in her bedroom and watched the gloom outside gather as darkness fell and nursed their daughter. John usually sat with her in the evenings when she fed their daughter, talked softly about whatever came into his head. She thought about the evening he gave her a monologue about how soon might be too soon to begin training Victoria how to use a handgun. Mariah, a little appalled, had grasped their newborn daughter’s tiny hand and weighed options for how to tell him she didn’t think his plan was a good idea at all. Then she wondered if he was actually serious or just pushing her buttons when John started talking about the pink SIG Sauer .22 Mosquito. About to tell him it was too big and heavy for a child, Mariah had been brought up short by memories of her own childhood and the realities of life with John. Their home was full of weaponry and probably always would be. John had bought several gun safes and locked most of his arsenal up during the last two months of her pregnancy. She wasn’t foolish enough to think their daughter wouldn’t eventually figure out what was in the tall black boxes and how to get into them, not to mention the numerous hidden recesses that were filled with even more specialized weaponry.

Moving Victoria to her other breast, Mariah sighed. It was the winter solstice, and she watched the light fade from the sky outside. It was the longest night of the year, and all she needed was more darkness in her life. Christmas was only days away. When John called, she hid her sadness as best she could. She knew he couldn’t stand it when she cried, so she waited until he hung up before she let the tears fall. Christmas was Friday, and she had no hope the Americans would let John come to them since they still hadn’t caught whomever had stolen U. S. and Canadian plans for their versions of the Intersect. Her family were all coming to stay with her, but Mariah was pretty sure it was only because John had to stay in Los Angeles with Chuck Bartowski.

Ellie, who had been told Mariah had gone home to register Victoria’s Canadian citizenship, was further told Mariah had decided to remain and visit her father since she was already there. Ellie called every few days, most recently half an hour earlier. Mariah had hated telling her that she would not be home for Christmas after all, mentioned the growing winter storms as the barrier. Ellie had commiserated with her, and Mariah had honestly told her she couldn’t bear the idea of being away from John for the holiday.

But she would be, and there was simply nothing she or he could do about it.

She’d spent her time locked up in the house her mother had built. It was a beautiful prison, Mariah had to admit as she stared out the wall of glass that looked out over the sea. It was, though, a design better suited to another climate. The panes rattled in the vicious winter wind, and the cathedral ceiling in the living room meant the room was always cold while the other rooms were almost insufferably hot with the amount of heat it took to make the open living space bearable. It was also huge, far bigger than she and Victoria needed. Since she wasn’t allowed to let the local woman who took care of it come do her job, Mariah found it was more house than she wanted to keep, especially since her only company were members of the security detail her father had sent. She found herself cooking for them in order to have other grownups to talk to.

Maybe she should insist her father send her a vetted housekeeper and cook. Mariah was tired all the time, and she knew it wasn’t the effort of keeping up with a newborn or looking after the house and the security detail. No, she was depressed, and it had nothing to do with post-partum blues. Playing housewife without her husband kept her busy enough she didn’t wallow in it, at least not often. Unfortunately, when the only person she really had to talk to couldn’t talk back, it didn’t help matters.

If it weren’t for why she was there, Mariah would have visited friends, but she stayed put, and the days crept by.

When her sister, her mother, and Ben arrived on Wednesday, she was glad to see them, but it did little to lift her spirits. The next day, she and her mother braved the snow to go into St. John’s to get the rest of the food she would need for Christmas dinner. Her security details had a fit, but Mariah overrode them, agreed to their rules, and they let her go. “You really should have called and let us bring it with us from the airport,” her mother told her.

Mariah had put it off, held out hope John would be able to come, but when she had talked to him early that morning, it had been clear that he wouldn’t. At least she hadn’t cried when they ended the phone call, even though she had wanted to. She hoped to remain distracted by family so that she wouldn’t feel John’s absence so keenly. For the most part it worked—until her father called and told her the growing snowstorms might keep him away. He told her new operatives were on their way to relieve the ones who had been with her since she arrived in Newfoundland. He gave her their names, and Mariah jotted them down. She promised to ask to see ID before trusting them. Her father apologized again in case he couldn’t get there. She swallowed down her disappointment and told him she loved him and to be safe. He returned the sentiment, and after he had hung up, she couldn’t help wondering if he had found someone he wanted to share his holiday with more than his daughter and his ex.

On Christmas Eve morning, she announced she planned to attend church that night. Mariah was past caring if someone saw her, and she loved the pageantry of this particular service. The head of the security team argued with her, but she had held her ground, insisted. She could hear faint curses as he left to go see to security along the route and at the church.

When she told her family that afternoon she intended to go to church that night, her mother protested. The weather had grown worse, but Mariah wouldn’t be swayed. She had given up midnight service the year before in Los Angeles, though she didn’t regret it. This year she wasn’t going to get her Christmas miracle, so she was at least going to do something she enjoyed and had missed. She knew Peter still followed local tradition, that the service was still the way it had been when they were both children, and she wanted one normal thing in her life when very little else was even remotely normal.

At one point, Mariah thought perhaps she should give in, stay home. Then she decided to hell with it. There had been no attempts on her, no one had apparently even come looking for her and Victoria. She would resume her life as best she could until she could go home.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some adult situations and language.

Irritated, Casey rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. Victoria had conditioned him to not only sleep lightly as he’d always done but to awaken often, and despite the fact that she was thousands of miles away, he still woke every few hours. It didn’t help his mood that her mother wasn’t where she belonged, either—especially since even though he’d seen the sedan and the SUV a couple more times, no one seemed to be making any moves against Bartowski.

If he had to be stuck here alone, the least the bad guys could do was give him something to do. Instead, they were maddeningly dormant, like they decided to take the holiday season off this year.

Each day he talked to V. H., and each day Casey got a similar story out of the man. No one was making moves against Riah, either. He snorted, rolled over and punched his pillow into a different shape. Okay, Casey really didn’t want anyone else making moves on his wife, especially not the ones he wanted to make, but it might make him less pissed off if there really was a valid reason to keep dragging this out.

As he had told her he would, he called Riah each night. Occasionally, Casey called her at other times, though he hated to admit that was because he missed her, wanted to at least hear her voice even if he couldn’t see her or their daughter.

It didn’t help that Ellie was obviously fishing, either. Casey knew she worried about Riah—about him and Riah—so he remained patient with her. After a week and a half, she began dropping broader hints that if he wanted to talk, she’d listen. It had taken him a few of those to realize Ellie thought they had split up again. That realization only came after Bartowski had gone a unique shade of blush when he told Casey his sister wanted him to give Casey something. The pamphlets Chuck handed him had been for marriage counselors.

His phone lit and gave an alert that told him there was a perimeter breach. Casey didn’t bother with lights—just grabbed the SIG and a vest before he shoved his feet in shoes and ran for the living room. Someone was finally making a move on Bartowski.

A lone idiot was trying to manipulate the lock on the kid’s window. Casey was pissed that Walker must have her phone off since she apparently didn’t get the alert, but he was glad she had either made Bartowski lock his window or had done it for him since it delayed the intruder. He didn’t bother with threats, simply used the SIG as a club and put the intruder down before he restrained and then disarmed him. Casey stripped the mask off the man, but he didn’t recognize the weasel. He rapped on the closed window until a sleepy Bartowski answered.

“You could have called,” the kid mumbled.

“Where’s Walker?” Casey demanded.

Bartowski shrugged. “She got a call, told me to stay here.”

Furious that she had left the asset alone and unprotected, Casey asked tightly, “Call from whom?”

Rubbing his eyes, Bartowski said, less than helpfully, “CIA.”

That made no damn sense to Casey, but he let it go. If Walker didn’t have the kid, he’d have to. “Get dressed,” he told Chuck, and when it was obvious Bartowski was going to balk, he pointed at the ground with the SIG. Chuck’s eyes shot wide. “Someone got rid of Walker to get to you,” he said. “I’m gonna need a hand with this.”

That crooked sunburst on Bartowski’s face told him he should have made plain what he meant by that. He was too tired to burst the kid’s bubble, though. Casey called Walker while he waited, and his anger ratcheted up when he got her voice mail. He left a pissed off message and then tried her hotel room. He nudged the unconscious man at his feet with the toe of his shoe and realized he should have seen if Bartowski would flash. When he told the kid to grab the guy’s feet, though, there was no flash, so Casey figured whoever the deadweight was, he wasn’t in the Intersect.

Once they had the intruder confined in Castle, Casey put the call through to D. C. To his relief, Walker’s call had been legitimate, but he still intended to tear a strip off her when he saw her next for leaving Bartowski unprotected and not giving him a heads up.

After forty-eight hours, it appeared the Ring had decided on a nuisance campaign. They sent their agents in one at a time at uneven intervals, but the only thing they got was an angry, cranky Casey who had to put them down since they managed to get past the team who was supposed to stop them. Walker was on her way to Tripoli to meet an informant with whom she’d worked before. He was even crankier about Walker’s location. He’d love a crack at Gaddafi. Instead, Casey got to babysit a nerd.

Bartowski got one of the imbeciles they sent after him before Casey could get there, and then he had a whole new set of worries that the kid might get over-confident about his Intersect-driven abilities and get himself spectacularly killed.

Casey was working on more sleep deprivation than he had with a new baby in the house, so he began to worry that the next operative might get through, might get Bartowski because he wasn’t as alert as he should be. Beckman sent help, but Casey didn’t trust them to do it right, especially since the CIA team they’d had before hadn’t. After all, Bartowski had a tendency to zig when he needed to zag.

As a result, he was genuinely glad to see Walker when she finally got back. It didn’t stop him from cornering her and unleashing his seething resentment at her lack of notice that she was gone. “You left the asset unprotected,” Casey ground out. Before she could say he was close by, he added, “The next time you do that without telling your partner, I’ll see you’re not only reprimanded but reassigned permanently.”

It was mostly bluster since the CIA rarely listened to him, but Walker’s eyes shot wide, and she believed. That was the important part, Casey supposed. Now that he was certain she’d stick close to the kid, Casey left her to it.

He might have been less angry if it hadn’t been for the fact that something similar appeared to be happening in Newfoundland. V. H. said there had been a few intruders, though he refused to quantify what few meant or even explain what kind of intruders, but since Riah didn’t go out, the Ring’s opportunities had been limited to trying for her at her home. His father-in-law finally admitted he hadn’t told Riah about the attempts, said he didn’t want to worry her, so Casey was torn when he spoke to her. It wasn’t his operation, she was obviously on edge, and since he couldn’t do anything from Los Angeles, he didn’t share what her father told him. It irritated the hell out of him that he had to stay where he was, though, despite understanding why.

It didn’t stop him from urging V. H. to tell Riah, warn her, so that she didn’t get too comfortable, take any risks, especially when Finley’s name surfaced again in a report Beckman forwarded to Casey.

Finley entered Canada through Vancouver, was spotted in Toronto, and then vanished. Casey figured he was working his way east for a reason, and Riah, he suspected, was that reason. Her father refused to discuss it when Casey raised the possibility, told Casey to worry about his own problems in Los Angeles and let him deal with those in Canada.

Casey repeatedly asked Beckman to let him go, but she soundly refused. When he realized she was one more request away from seeing he’d like his next assignment even less than the one he had, he stopped asking.

The next Ring minion he and Walker caught cracked, the first one who did. The woman identified members of her local cell. Casey hoped that when the mop-up was finished Beckman would reconsider. It was three days until Christmas. Since Finley was still loose and still in Canada, he knew V. H. wasn’t letting Riah budge, but Casey failed to see why he couldn’t lend a hand. It would let him spend the holiday with his wife and daughter after all, but Beckman still refused. He began to suspect that might be V. H.’s doing.

As a result, Casey reluctantly accepted Ellie’s invitation to Christmas dinner. It beat the hell out of sitting home alone, even if Bartowski’s sister would probably find a way to corner and counsel him.

Riah was no happier than he, and Casey was pretty damn unhappy. He could hear something in her voice when he talked to her that he hadn’t heard since she had gone into meltdown when Laurance turned up at the Buy More. That worried him more than Finley, to tell the truth, especially since Casey still had Dreyfus’s diagnosis imprinted on his brain, complete with Riah’s admission to the shrink that she had had suicidal thoughts.

At least all was quiet on the Intersect front, and from the available intel, it seemed like it might stay that way a while.

 

On Christmas Eve, he had the closing shift at the Buy More. Big Mike figured with Riah gone he was at loose ends, so Casey drew the short straw along with the other lonely losers. He hadn’t been on the floor long when he saw V. H. enter the store. He excused himself from the customer dithering over microwaves and crossed to where his father-in-law stood.

“You’re about to get a call,” V. H. said. Casey couldn’t help but wonder what in hell had gone wrong now. His eyes sought out Bartowski, who was safely on the phone behind the Nerd Herd desk. Sure enough, his own phone vibrated in his pocket.

“Ma’am,” Casey said, choosing the safest greeting given any number of Buy Morons might overhear him.

“Has Mr. Adderly arrived yet?” Beckman demanded.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said and looked over at the man who reached into his inside jacket pocket. There was a brief moment where Casey wondered if he’d be on the wrong end of a service weapon, but V. H. withdrew a set of folded papers.

“Since Mr. Bartowski appears safe for the moment, Colonel, I’ve decided to let you resume your leave.”

V. H. extended the papers toward him. Casey took them and shook them open one-handed. They were orders for his leave and a form that said his fictitious Guard unit was being called to service to help with the winter storms savaging the Midwest.

“I’ll inform Agent Walker,” the General continued, “but you are free to leave immediately. I believe Adderly intends to take you to your wife and daughter for Christmas.”

His eyes shot to his father-in-law. “Thank you, Ma’am.” After he hung up, Casey told V. H., “Five minutes.”

Bartowski followed him to the break room. As Casey opened his locker and grabbed his things, Chuck asked, “Did something happen to Mariah?”

Casey slammed the door closed and snapped the lock shut—even though he now knew it wouldn’t keep his coworkers out.

Before he could respond to Bartowski’s question, the kid added, “That is Mariah’s dad out there, right?”

As often as Bartowski had spoken to the man, albeit through a monitor, Casey didn’t feel he had to answer the obvious. “Riah’s fine, you’re fine, Walker and two teams have eyes on you, so I’m going to spend Christmas with my wife and daughter.” He paused at the door. “Any other questions you’d like to delay my departure with?”

The supernova smile exploded on the kid’s face. “No,” he said, then—and Casey should have just walked since it was inevitable that the kid would change his mind, find something else to say because he was Bartowski—“Yes!” Casey waited to see what changed Chuck’s mind. “Tell her . . . tell her Merry Christmas, and, and tell her we wish she was here.”

Casey let the growl out. He felt certain Ellie had already called and said pretty much that.

He detoured to Big Mike’s office, handed off the sheet that said he was being recalled to active duty with the Guard then returned to V. H., who talked to Bartowski at the Nerd Herd desk.

On the way to his apartment, Casey called Walker. They had a fast conversation about Bartowski’s safety, and when she said, “Merry Christmas, Casey,” he was startled into blurting the same sentiment to her.

V. H. laughed.

Casey ignored him.

He left his father-in-law in his living room while he went upstairs and changed into the gray suit Riah liked, though not as well as the black. Casey packed quickly, found his passport, and returned downstairs. In the car once more, he pulled his phone and started to call Riah.

“Don’t,” V. H. said.

Casey gave him a hard stare.

“There really are large, dangerous storms in the Midwest,” he told Casey, “and a Northeaster grinding up the east coast towards Newfoundland. There’s only a slim chance we’ll even get there, so don’t get her hopes up.”

“Riah doesn’t like surprises,” Casey reminded him. His wife actually hated surprises. “If the odds are against getting there, then what the hell are we doing?”

V. H. simply cocked a brow and grinned. “Trying to give my daughter the only thing she wants for Christmas—you.”

Their flight was rerouted several times. Casey, who could sleep in the worst weather on board any kind of aircraft, used the longer than normal flight to do exactly that, catch up on his sleep. When he roused, he saw V. H. quietly working. A time or two he was tempted to ask on what, but he knew Riah’s father wouldn’t tell him.

When he finally decided he’d slept enough, Casey looked across at V. H. and asked how much longer. “About an hour and a half.”

He rubbed his face. “Tell me about the attempts.”

V. H. plucked a file out of the pile he’d been working through and handed it across. These weren’t the kind of nuisance attempts the ones against Bartowski had appeared to be. These were mostly small teams who had been damned serious given their firepower. Casey wondered how they had kept Riah from finding out, especially since a few of V. H.’s operatives had sustained serious injuries. When he finished reading, he looked at the other man, held his temper in check. Her father should have told him—if not her. “Have you told her?”

For once, V. H. was entirely serious. “She’s showing signs of clinical depression again, and I didn’t want to do anything that might make that worse.”

Casey leaned forward. “She fights it better when she has something to keep her busy, something to focus on and to challenge her, and she’s damned good at pulling herself together to get the job done.” He was surprised her father didn’t know that, but then he remembered something V. H. had told him long ago—Riah wouldn’t talk to her father about the depression because he was the boss.

“She has Victoria to concentrate on.”

“You know as well as I do that there’s no distraction big enough when you’re simply waiting for the enemy to make a play,” Casey told him tightly.

V. H. held his hands up. “We’re on the same side here, Casey.” He dropped his hands and added, “If I told her, if she decided to be more proactive in her defense, she might inadvertently leave Victoria unprotected, and we can’t afford that any more than we can afford losing Mariah.” V. H. chose another file and handed it across. Casey flipped it open and read the translated transcript of a series of coded e-mails. His eyes shot to V. H.’s. “This time around, they seem as interested in Victoria as they are Mariah.”

He thought fast. There were several reasons to consider Victoria, Casey knew. Bartowski had finally admitted his father had done much of the early Intersect testing on himself, and Stephen Bartowski believed that one of the reasons Chuck was able to use that first version with relative ease was that biology probably played a role. If Riah was genuinely viable, then chances were Victoria was as well.

“Riah needs to know.”

Her father nodded. “Assuming Ariel will play nicely—and I think she will this time—let Mariah have a good Christmas. Then we’ll put the cards on the table.”

For a brief moment, Casey nearly argued for telling her as soon as they arrived, but the other man was right. Riah was worried enough as it was, and there were enough operatives in addition to V. H. and Casey to keep them safe.

There was heavy snow when they landed in St. John’s. One of ISI’s operatives drove an SUV to the hangar where V. H.’s pilot taxied. They put their bags in the back, and after he buckled his seatbelt, Casey looked at his watch. It was eleven p.m.. He shook his head. Two years running now, he’d gone home to Riah in the early hours of Christmas. At least this time he didn’t need a plan of attack to win her over.

It was relatively slow going. Visibility was shit, and the road wasn’t completely cleared. Given the way the snow was coming down, Casey was surprised they’d managed to clear what they had. He’d taken the trouble to find out how to get to Riah’s house, mainly because he’d hoped that if she couldn’t come home he could go to her, so when V. H. drove past the road he knew led to her place, Casey asked, “Wasn’t that the turn?”

V. H. shot a quick look his way. “We’re going to the church.”

Given Riah’s orders had been to stay in her house and not leave it, that puzzled Casey. “Why?”

“Mariah loves the midnight service, and it’ll start soon.” V. H. sent another look his way, this one amused. “She informed her security detail’s chief early this morning that she was going regardless of what he thought, so he spent most of today figuring out how to make that safely happen.”

Once they were parked in the church parking lot, Casey turned up the collar of his overcoat as they made their way through the snow and the cold wind to the church steps. Peter Whatley recognized them, smiled, shook V. H.’s hand when they reached the top of the steps, and welcomed him before turning to Casey. “Colonel.”

“Vicar,” Casey returned easily, shook the hand of the man who had officiated at his wedding. “Is my wife here?”

Whatley shook his head. They talked a moment, and then the minister smiled. He gestured toward the street behind them. “I believe this is who you’re looking for?”

Casey turned in time to watch Bennett MacKenzie hand Riah down from the back of an SUV. He presumed the bundle in her arms was Victoria. He nearly started forward to meet them. Instead, he waited, watched her approach through the snow and wondered when she’d see him. At the moment, Riah concentrated on the slick, partially cleared pavement before her. Emma said something that didn’t carry but made his wife’s head come up and her eyes find him. The smile that bloomed made Casey aware of how tense he’d been until he saw that. Riah moved more quickly toward him, and the tension was back as he worried she might slip.

He met her at the foot of the steps. Riah laughed and clung to him. Casey pulled her closer and kissed the hell out of her. He felt Victoria wriggle, so he eased off the tightness with which he held them. “I’m so glad you’re here,” Riah breathed when he released her mouth, but he barely let her get it out before he kissed her again. This was a far different reception than the last Christmas they’d spent together. Casey had ideas about the kinds of celebration they could enjoy.

She grinned at him when he lifted his head, and he grinned at her in return. He put a hand on Victoria’s head and leaned down to kiss Riah once more. This time Casey put his mouth against her ear and whispered, “Let’s go sin.”

Her voice was a whispered promise in his ear: “I’ll sin all you want later.”

Obviously, Riah was determined to be pious and attend the service, so Casey kissed her again and turned her toward the church.

Inside, V. H. took Victoria while Casey helped Riah shed her coat before removing his own. Casey noticed his wife had that look on her face as she watched him, the one that usually meant she not only liked what she saw but wanted to see more. He was tempted to persuade her to go somewhere more private, but she had told him once, just as her father had on the trip there, that she loved this particular service. He supposed he could wait. Riah turned to take Victoria from V. H. They were seated, she unwrapped their daughter. Casey took Victoria from her, studied how much his daughter had grown and changed in the weeks she and her mother had been gone. When Riah looked like she would take Victoria back, he cradled his daughter closer and slipped an arm around his wife.

To be honest, very little of the service soaked in. He followed Riah’s lead, did what was required, but mostly he planned for when they were alone. He felt no guilt for that. Casey figured God would understand, especially since He made man in his image, but then Casey spent a moment or two wondering if God got lonely and wished there was a lady God to keep him company. Strangely, he felt an affinity to God he hadn’t before. After all, the deity spent his time trying to keep up with his creations—to guard them and to punish them when needed.

Jesus, he was channeling the Nerd and his bearded life-partner.

Casey was happy when the service was finally over. All he wanted was to take his family home—or what was going to pass for home until he had them actually back with him permanently. Ariel, though, appeared to still have friends there, so for Riah’s sake, he tried to hide his impatience to leave. When necessary, his wife introduced him, and Casey closely studied the people she let ogle their daughter.

Apparently V. H. felt merciful or the holiday spirit or something, because he reshuffled everyone so that Casey and Riah rode home alone with their daughter while her father took everyone else. When they were underway, Riah finally asked, “How did you get leave?”

“Beckman relented,” Casey told her. He shrugged. “I think your father had something to do with it.” He went on to tell her how they had thought for a while they wouldn’t make it, especially when the pilot rerouted for the fourth time.

Riah reached over the console between them and stroked a hand up his thigh. “I’m glad you made it.”

He shot her a smile and then focused on the road. When Riah started to retract her hand, he caught it and held it in place. Casey had missed her touch as much as he’d missed her. After he let her hand go so he could put his own back on the wheel, she left hers where it was, occasionally made a light stroking gesture that made him wish they could safely drive faster.

A guard stopped them as they turned onto her drive. The man looked around Casey, saw Riah, nodded, and let them continue. Casey asked her if she knew who the man was, and after she gave him the name, he committed it to memory. V. H.’s men needed to be a bit more thorough, he thought. Just because Riah was with him didn’t mean he wasn’t one of the bad guys. As they drove up to the house, Riah directed him to the garage. Riah got Victoria while Casey retrieved his suitcase.

Riah let them all inside the house and then locked the door and reset the alarm system. An operative waylaid V. H., and Casey nearly went back to listen to the man’s report. Instead, he let Riah lead him into a large, open living room. Emma finally greeted him by wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. His sister-in-law was a hugger, so he endured it. Casey would rather have her sister’s arms around him, but he didn’t say so.

V. H. rejoined them, and Riah said, “I’ll just show John where to put his things.”

Her father reached for Victoria. “I’ll mind my granddaughter while Casey . . . unpacks.”

As he followed his wife up the stairs and along a railed gallery looking down to the living room, Casey had a feeling V. H. knew exactly what was about to happen.

It turned out, though, that Casey didn’t.

Once inside what was obviously the master suite, Casey set his case down and shrugged out of his overcoat while Riah closed the door. That should have been his first clue, he supposed, since she generally didn’t close bedroom doors. The next thing he knew, she knocked him on his ass and was on top of him, her mouth on his hungrily as her fingers scrabbled at his tie.

She’d taken advantage of the element of surprise, but he let his injured pride go since she was simply getting down to business immediately instead of wasting time talking.

Not that Casey had intended to waste time talking, but he probably would have at least waited until the bed was in range.

Riah freed his collar button and one other before she just grabbed his open collar and yanked. He was going to need a new shirt, but that was a fair price to pay, he supposed, for the mileage he was going to get out of this if V. H. again claimed Casey molested the other man’s daughter.

Her hands seemed to be everywhere, mouth, too. Casey belated decided to be helpful. Riah knocked his hands away when he searched for the zipper on the dress she wore. He dropped them to her knees on either side of his hips, and when she took his mouth again, he let his hands stroke up her thighs beneath the skirt of her dress.

Riah tore her mouth from his and knocked his hands back once more. About to complain, he realized his wife had his SIG now pointed a fraction of an inch from the bridge of his nose. Anger began to surge, but her finger was across the trigger guard and not on the trigger itself. Combined with her sultry, “Don’t make me get your cuffs, John,” that fact defused his anger.

Okay, this was her party. Riah could make the rules.

For a split second, though, Casey considered making her use the cuffs.

So that she didn’t have the upper hand entirely, he pointed out helpfully, “You’re either going to have to put that down, or you’re going to need me to use my hands.”

Casey liked the slightly hungry, thoughtful look on her face as she weighed her options. He lifted his hips, made sure he rolled against her in an attempt to sway her decision. Riah rested the muzzle of the SIG against his forehead and then leaned down and bit his earlobe before she licked along his jaw to his mouth. She had to move the gun to kiss him. “You’re taking this well.”

“Not as well as I plan to take you,” Casey promised.

Riah snorted and set the SIG on the rug. Her hand sought his belt. “You’ve got that wrong,” she told him and took his mouth again. “I’m the one who’s going to take you.”

“Well,” he reminded her and leaned up to catch her mouth. Riah pulled back, though, and he got the message, lay back so she could carry on.

Her fingers worked his belt as she nibbled, sucked, and nipped her way down his body. Casey determinedly remained still despite the instinct to roll her onto the floor and get on with it. Riah had his trousers undone by the time she ran her tongue in his belly button, but to his great disappointment, she lifted and caught his mouth again. “You have a point,” she conceded.

“You know what to do with it,” he reminded her.

A slight smile curved her lips as Riah shook her head, sat up, and pulled her dress over her head while Casey stared avidly at her body. She appeared to have lost what baby weight she’d gained, but what he liked was the fact that she had worn what was probably his favorite set of her underwear beneath the deep, dark, red dress. Forget red, forget black; Casey was solidly sold on the eroticism of white as he stared at the first set of La Perla he’d seen her in. She’d worn this that night he undressed her after returning home from a mission to find her asleep on the couch. Riah redirected the hand he reached up to cup a breast to her hip, so he slid his fingertips inside those panties and curled them around the thin strap that connected the front to the back. He repeated the movement on her other side.

Riah crawled off him, lost the panties, boots, and socks she’d worn before she took Casey’s pants down just enough to expose him but not stain his trousers when she finally settled astride him. “Need any more help?” he asked hopefully. Riah shut him up with her mouth and got down to business.

His hands came up when Riah seated herself on him and began to move. Once more she batted them away. Casey groaned when she shifted, changed her movements so that she tightened around him in such a way he wasn’t sure he could wait for her. She fucked words out of him he didn’t know he had in him. Her only response was a dirty little laugh that sent him right over the edge.

It took a while before he could think again. Meanwhile, Riah kissed along his jaw to his chin as he lazily asked, “Do you know the number for the Royal Newfoundland Constabulary?”

A confused frown crossed Riah’s face as she pushed up so she could see him.

“I think I’ve just been raped,” Casey explained.

She grinned, gave him a smoldering kiss and murmured, “I didn’t hear you complaining—nor did you resist.”

“You had me at gunpoint,” he reminded her. “I was too afraid to resist.”

“You were the only one with a gun when push came to shove,” Riah said with a wicked note. “Do you hear me complaining?”

Casey put a hand on her knee ran it up her thigh. “Okay, I wasn’t exactly unwilling.”

One of his grunts came out of her before Riah claimed his mouth, this time far more gently than she’d done before. Casey rolled her to her back and propped himself on his elbows. “On the other hand,” he added as he nibbled along her neck, “pull my gun and put it to my head again, and you’ll have to pay penalties.”

“I just did,” Riah told him and raised her brows.

About to ask her what she meant, Casey figured it out. She’d gotten him off, but the reverse wasn’t true. “Mind if we take care of that fully naked and in the bed?”

“I believe you mentioned sin?” Riah prompted softly.

“Well,” Casey drawled and took a brief kiss, “since we’re married, Mrs. Casey, that’s a little harder to achieve.”

She gave a dramatic sigh. “Promises, promises, Colonel.” She kissed him thoroughly.

“You made a good start with taking me by force,” Casey assured her, “perhaps you should be in charge of instigating sin.”

“Take me to bed, and we’ll see what you can tempt me into.”

As it turned out, he could tempt her into quite a few things. Casey was on the edge of sleep when she slipped out of his arms. When Riah pulled a robe from her closet, he realized she wasn’t coming right back to bed. He asked where she was going. “To get Victoria.”

Riah bent to kiss him quickly. She didn’t stop to brush her hair or find her slippers. A disgruntled Casey rolled out of bed and looked for his clothes so he could follow her.

He retrieved his bag and pulled out a t-shirt since the deep blue shirt he’d worn with his suit now only had two buttons on it. Casey picked up the SIG and put it on the nightstand before he pulled his pants back on. He hung his suit jacket and overcoat up and tossed his socks in Riah’s laundry basket before he set his shoes on the closet floor. Then he followed his wife downstairs.

Riah smiled at him as he stepped off the stairs and crossed to the end of the sofa where she sat, a receiving blanket covering their daughter’s head while she nursed. V. H. gave him a frown while Casey braced for the inevitable comment. He sat beside Riah and ran an arm over her shoulders before he leaned in to kiss her. She settled back against him.

“I assume you’ve finished molesting my daughter for the night?” her father asked.

Ariel hissed his name as Emma tried hard not to laugh. MacKenzie was absent, he noticed. Casey gave V. H. a mock glare and growled, “For the last time, your daughter molests me.”

Riah shot him an amused glance. “Throw me under the bus, will you?” she said just loud enough for her father to hear, which earned her a snort from V. H.

Casey looked across at his father-in-law. “I’m considering calling the Royal Newfoundland Constabulary and asking them to lay rape charges against her.”

From the corner of his eye, Casey watched Riah lose the battle not to grin, watched her finally bite her lip to keep from laughing at his aggrieved tone. He heard Ariel groan, and considered suitable retorts to what he predicted might be her father’s next salvo, but it was Riah who spoke next. She looked up at him, and said in that sultry voice of hers, “You know you liked it.”

Oh, he had. A slow, smile of appreciation spread across his face, but before he could retaliate, could point out she’d used his own gun to control him, her father said, “Clearly you’ve brainwashed Mariah into doing depraved things to you.”

If that had been meant to get him to back down, her father had miscalculated. Casey’s smile turned salacious. “And a very apt pupil she is, too.”

“Emma, bed,” Ariel said abruptly. Riah bit back a grin when her sister whined that she missed all the entertainment, but Emma dutifully marched off to bed. Casey wasn’t sorry when Ariel followed, pausing only to say good night and tell Riah she’d see her in the morning.

Riah moved Victoria to her other breast. Casey dropped a kiss on her neck. He wished she’d simply brought their daughter back upstairs where they had privacy, especially when V. H. cracked, “I really don’t need to see you molest Mariah.”

“Lay off, Dad,” Riah said before Casey could escalate. “I’m a grown woman, and we’re married.” She turned her head to eye Casey. “That goes for you, too.” Her father laughed, obviously enjoying the fact that she reprimanded Casey as well. Riah turned her attention back to her father. “John doesn’t molest me, Dad, and you really should stop saying that, especially in front of other people.”

“Tell your husband to keep his hands and his mouth to himself.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” she told him tartly. Casey watched her give her father a mirror image of the look V. H. used when he was pissed off—cocked brow and cold, hard stare. “I enjoy the fact that John can’t keep his hands and his mouth to himself.”

“Hey!” Casey protested gruffly. It was true, but he put on the show regardless.

“On the other hand,” Riah said, turning the same look on him, “the two of you are acting like a couple of twelve year olds.”

“Let a woman procreate,” her father said with a melodramatic sigh, “and she suddenly becomes bossy as hell.”

Given the look on Riah’s face, Casey carefully weighed whether or not to join her father’s rebellion. Riah’s eyes narrowed on him, but Casey still chose male solidarity. “Since she had Victoria, she’s decided she’s in charge” he lamented, and he watched Riah’s expression slide to suspicion. He decided not to use the gunpoint gambit, chose instead to say, “That’s why I had to submit to her demands upstairs.”

“Keep it up, Colonel, and the only demands you’ll hear from me are ones to leave me alone.” V. H. laughed, and Casey grinned at her. She’d taken the bait, and he wondered if he wouldn’t have to pay that particular penalty after all. Riah regrouped and apparently decided on a pre-emptive strike. “As for you,” she told her father, “while I’m glad you brought my husband here so I could assault him, I think in the interests of family harmony, you should just leave us to it.”

After her father left them, Casey let his fingers glide over the side of her neck. When Victoria finished nursing, Riah started to lift her to her shoulder and burp her, but Casey took the receiving blanket and their daughter. Riah watched him gently rub Victoria’s back while she adjusted her robe. “So,” Casey asked with an unrepentant grin, “interested in assaulting me again when Victoria’s asleep?”

Riah gave him a stern look. “Only if you protest loudly enough to keep my father awake.”

He leaned in and kissed her. “We’ll wake our daughter if I do.”

“Damn,” she murmured against his mouth. “Then I guess the answer’s no.”

Casey gave a disappointed whine before he tried to persuade her with a hungry kiss.

“Maybe,” Riah amended.

He redoubled his efforts.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Once they were upstairs again, Casey changed Victoria and put her in her crib. He pulled Mariah to him and said, “Merry Christmas, Riah.”

“Happy Christmas, John,” Mariah told him in return.

 

He came awake slowly, certain he’d only had a nap and not at all certain what had woken him. Casey’s hand searched for Riah, but her side of the bed was empty. He could hear the murmur of her voice, though, so he rolled onto his back, sprawled across the bed and found her in a rocker across the room nursing Victoria. Dawn was obviously beginning to break, so he dozed a little. He’d need to call his mother later, and he tried to remember how far off Newfoundland time was from Eastern. Why the island had to have its own time zone and one that was forty-five minutes off, Casey wasn’t sure. As a result, he tried to remember if that forty-five minutes was constant or if it was thirty or fifteen or an hour and half at others.

Neither of them had slept much the night before, but he, at least, didn’t mind why. Riah, though, would have to prepare dinner. Casey would give her a hand with that, mainly to keep her mother from making her crazy.

When Riah said, “Your daddy is a bed hog,” to their daughter, he smiled sleepily.

“I heard that,” Casey growled softly. “Tell her you usually push me out of the way when you sleep.”

“No,” Riah corrected gently, “I usually just sleep on top of you.”

He grunted his concession. “Come back to bed.” He rolled so that he could see them where they sat. “Bring Victoria if you like.”

“You’ll have to clarify your intentions before I decide whether or not it’s appropriate to bring our daughter to bed.” Casey lifted his head to frown at her, but Riah just gave him a serene smile. He wondered if he could persuade her to put Victoria in her crib and rejoin him, take off the nightgown she now wore and consider assaulting him once more.

Just as he was about to suggest it, Riah told him, “I’ll bring you Victoria, but I’ve got things to do.”

Disappointed, Casey nodded. “I’d rather have you.”

“You’ve had me—several times.” Riah’s broad smile softened the sting. “I’ll be lucky if I can stay awake long enough to get dinner together.”

Casey sat up. “I’ll give you a hand.”

Riah gave him a long look. She moved Victoria to her other breast as Casey got out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. When he had finished his shower and shaved, he came out wearing nothing but a towel, which earned him an appreciative appraisal from his wife. He found his case and pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms and put them on before Casey walked over, kissed her good morning, and then took the baby from her.

While Riah made bread dough and set it to rise, Casey entertained Victoria. He’d missed his daughter as much as he’d missed his wife, but now that Riah had turned her attention to pies, he decided to needle his wife a bit. Casey knew Victoria had no idea what he said, so he switched from simply talking to her about Bartowski, Ellie and Los Angeles to fail-proof methods of seduction boys would try to use on her when she grew up. He had no doubts his daughter would be beautiful, so it would never be too soon to warn her.

That didn’t stop Riah from turning around and giving him a disapproving look.

“Your mother is upset,” Casey told Victoria, “but then she’s a sucker for my seduction skills.”

“Your father,” Riah returned evenly with a mocking little smile, “was trained in those skills by that idiot Roan Montgomery—and he failed the class twice.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Casey told his daughter as he looked up at Riah. “Your mother apparently didn’t take the class at all.”

That certainly pushed a button since her brow shot up, and she tilted her head. Casey watched as she changed her posture and then walked toward him with a seductive sway that had him lifting Victoria protectively against his chest. Riah leaned down and kissed him, long, slow, deep, and when she lifted her head, she looked at their daughter and said softly, “Your father has no idea what he’s talking about.” She remained leaning toward him, moved a hand so that his eyes were drawn to the neckline of the long, black nightgown she wore. He had a very good view down that gown, and he was about to lean in and press a kiss against the exposed bit of breast above that neckline when Riah added, “I passed with flying colors—first time.”

Casey’s eyes widened. Somehow, he’d never considered that she might have taken ISI’s version of seduction school. The facts that she’d been a virgin and that her father was overprotective had made him reject the possibility. Suspicious, he asked, “Who taught it?”

Riah smiled a slow, seductive smile at his question. “Jean-Luc Reynard.”

Oh, he had her. His wife lied, and while that would normally piss him off, this particularly blatant lie made him grin. Casey admired the absolute sincerity with which Riah told it, too. Normally he could spot when she was about to tell an untruth, but this one had rung true, and none of her usual tells had made an appearance. “Your mother lies, kiddo,” he said. “She was a virgin, and everyone knows no woman gets out of Reynard’s class a virgin.”

“Two words, Hotshot,” Riah returned with a mocking smile, “boss’s daughter.”

That certainly wiped the grin off his face.

Casey was still chasing shock as Riah took their daughter from him and put her in the bassinette near the table. As she walked back to him, Casey stared speculatively at her. She slid onto his lap, wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Of course, that also meant my curriculum was tweaked to keep the Director General happy, and Jean-Luc really prefers pretty boys to women.” His hands went to her hips as Riah slid her hands forward and cradled Casey’s face. “Women do get out of the class virgins—assuming they entered that way and choose to leave that way—but it has nothing to do with Jean-Luc.”

She kissed him, put into it a few things she might have learned from such a course, and Casey tightened his arms around her. “Want to show me what you learned?”

Riah smiled. “I learned far more from you than I did that class, John.”

“Want to show me what I taught you?” Casey growled.

“Later,” she promised and kissed him briefly. Riah got out of his lap, moved away from him and started coffee.

Casey followed her, turned her to him when she had switched the coffeemaker on and pulled her against him before he plundered her mouth. Riah wrapped her arms around him and returned the kiss. He lifted her onto the counter, slid her long hem up her legs before he stepped closer so he could pull her tightly to him. She wound her arms even tighter around his neck and shoulders and wrapped her legs around his waist, used them to pull him closer. Riah moaned as he ran a hand up her thigh, and Casey contemplated the possibilities.

Just as he was about unbutton the short row of buttons between her breasts, her father growled, “Stop molesting my daughter, Casey,” as he reached down a cup.

Casey hadn’t heard him come in, nor had he heard the coffeemaker signal it was finished brewing.

“I’m not molesting your daughter,” Casey growled back, and watched Riah blush. He smiled at her and stroked her thigh, his thumb running lightly up the inside. “I’m showing my wife how much I love her.” Her eyes went hot, and Casey considered telling V. H. to go away, come back later. Instead, he dropped another kiss on Riah’s mouth as she unwound her legs from his waist. He looked over his shoulder at her father and said, “Knock next time if you don’t want to see it.”

Her father raised his cup of coffee and then raised his brows. “Whoever heard of knocking on a kitchen door?”

Casey slid his hands to Riah’s waist and lifted her off the counter. Her hands shook as she reached another cup down and poured coffee for him. She handed it to him, and he murmured, “Thanks,” before he hooked a chair out with his foot. Concerned, he watched her, noted she was more than a little embarrassed they were caught by her father. Her cheeks were crimson, and she refused to look at either him or V. H. Riah busied herself at the counter, began rolling some of the dough out and mixed ground cinnamon and sugar as she melted butter. Cinnamon rolls, he realized as V. H. struck up a conversation with Casey. Thankfully, the other man did not talk about their sex life.

On the other hand, as Riah began to form bread rolls from the remainder of the dough, Casey deliberately turned the subject to the incidents her security detail had reported. He met her eyes as Riah shot a disbelieving look over her shoulder. Casey was glad she turned her anger on her father. He didn’t feel at all guilty for putting V. H. on the spot this way, and he certainly didn’t blame Riah when she tore into her father because no one told her attempts had been made. He was pissed at V. H., though, when he told Riah Casey had been kept apprised.

“I told him to tell you,” Casey bit out as he directed a hard, angry glare at the other man.

That neatly deflected Riah back at her father. “You didn’t need the worry,” V. H. finally said defensively.

“No, Dad,” she said between gritted teeth, “I needed _to_ worry.”

“Mariah, you were upset enough about being here,” the man tried, but his daughter cut him off, viciously, too.

“Remember I’m crazy, Dad, not stupid. I have a daughter to protect, and if someone got through your operatives, I’m the last line of defense. I needed to know.”

“This is why you should have gone somewhere else,” V. H. tried.

“No, this is why I should have stayed with John,” Riah snapped. “At least I’d know what’s going on.” Her shoulders slumped then, and she threw her hands up with an exasperated growl before she stalked out of the room, presumably to get her shower.

V. H. eyed him. “I notice she took that out on me, not you.”

Casey shrugged, lifted his coffee cup. “I told you to tell her.”

“You could have done it for me.”

He grinned at the other man. “You made it crystal clear what you’d do if I did.”

“Fine time to start listening to me,” V. H. grumbled.

Casey snorted, shook his head, and lifted his coffee cup. “Take your punishment like a man, Adderly. You just got off considerably lighter than I would have.” He set his coffee back down. “Have you found Finley yet?”

The other man shook his head. “No, and that worries me. With any luck, the weather will keep him away.” He eyed Casey seriously. “If I can talk Diane into it, I think my daughter has a point. You ought to take them home when we leave. Mariah’s isolated here, which has emboldened them. An old friend has an apartment for rent in St. John’s. I considered moving her there, but it can’t be easily secured. At least in Los Angeles there are enough potential witnesses to make them think more than twice. Additionally, Mona tells me your apartment’s a damned fortress. I figure Mariah and Victoria are safer there, especially if Diane really does extend your leave.”

He considered it, thought it through. “We’re still back to Riah and Bartowski in the same place, not to mention the fact that Chuck Bartowski has to remain my priority.”

Before V. H. could respond, Emma walked in, exclaimed, “Coffee!” and filled a cup before she plopped down next to Victoria’s bassinette and picked up her niece. Only then did she ask, “Am I interrupting something?”

This time Ariel sailed in before they could answer.

When Riah returned to the kitchen, she was dressed and her mother had breakfast underway. Casey wondered when he might find time to finish that conversation with V. H. and when he might next get a few moments alone with his wife.


	35. Chapter 35

Christmas with Riah’s family was definitely different than it would have been had he spent it with his own family. For one, dinner was more formal than it was with his family, perhaps because at this point there were too many Caseys to insist on ceremony while Riah’s immediate family was small—though he figured it was possible, given the threats against her and Victoria, the seven people in the room were the only ones willing to take the risk. For another, the interpersonal relationships within Riah’s family were much muddier, more complex than those in his family, so Casey decided to approach it from a sociological perspective. They were a group with their own rules, language, symbols, and ceremonial traditions, and he was an outsider studying them in the closest thing to their natural habitat.

It was either that or treat them as a subversive group who needed to be subdued or possibly eliminated.

He also had a whole new appreciation for why Riah was so uncomfortable with family celebrations. In part it was Ariel and the deference she demanded. In part it was how Riah flinched or visibly withdrew every time her parents looked or sounded like they even remotely disagreed with one another and a nascent argument began to escalate. Emma, bless her, tried to be the peacemaker while MacKenzie was simply there, occupied space and tried to remain out of the line of fire.

Then again, Riah had once admitted the man had used her in a research study, had wanted to again, so MacKenzie might be making a covert study of his own.

On the other hand, Casey understood MacKenzie’s low-key presence completely. After all, other than taking Riah’s hand, slipping an arm around her when she looked like she might unravel, Casey also tried to keep his head down and not draw any enemy fire. That was made more difficult when Emma handed out the presents beneath the tree.

Despite their argument over who should have paid for her engagement ring, Riah really hadn’t flaunted her wealth. She obviously was able to buy what she wished, but she was clearly not into the art of shopping or concerned with conspicuous consumption. It was one of the things he liked about her. Her mother, on the other hand, provided presents for Victoria that in terms of expense and number made Casey wonder what she thought a baby who was only a month and half old—who spent most of her time sleeping, eating, or simply observing her surroundings—would do with the mound of things that could have allowed them to open a baby store.

It would be a miracle if Victoria was able to wear even half the clothes her mother unwrapped before she outgrew them, and it would be months if not a year or more before she could play with many of the toys. It was the jewelry, though, that had him clenching his jaw so tightly that he considered a new definition for lockjaw since he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to loosen it up again. Riah had gently asked her mother why she’d bought the earrings, the bracelets with semi-precious stones, and the two necklaces; Casey, who was used to listening to nuances in voices heard the appalled note others might not suspect from her calm expression and relatively flat tone. Ariel, obviously startled that anyone would question her choice of gifts for her granddaughter, said, “It’s never too early to start building a collection.”

Casey considered starting a collection—heads, with Ariel’s the first on his list of acquisitions. He was, though, grimly amused when Riah said under her breath, “Great. Now our daughter needs a safety deposit box.”

It was obscene, he reflected as he stared at a pile of expensive presents Victoria was far too young to appreciate. The amount Ariel had spent on his daughter could have supported the kids he’d seen in third-world villages for months if not years—and that was before adding in the gifts from his own family, V. H., Emma, and Riah and Casey. Riah had threatened to freeze his bank accounts if he overindulged Victoria, and he now understood a little better why. He also suspected Ariel might have tried to buy forgiveness and affection from her daughter with this display of largesse.

Then, when he saw what Ariel gave her own daughter, Casey wondered if he underestimated her.

Riah had told him her mother usually gave her a nightgown for Christmas, but when she was handed the package from her mother, it was obviously not a nightgown. Casey whispered in her ear, “Has your father been telling your mother not to give you anything that makes me want to undress you?”

She blushed, whispered back, “She was horrified by what I bought for our wedding night.” Riah shifted the large, flat, rectangular package so she could open it. He recognized the woman in the painting immediately. Ariel had been a stunning woman—still was, whether Casey liked admitting it or not—when she was young. His snide thought about her obvious vanity for giving her daughter a portrait of herself died when he looked at the child in the painting with her.

He knew Riah’s maternal grandmother had been a painter—a well-known one at that—and the painting Riah held was obviously her work. Ariel had always admitted her entrance into music had been smoothed by her mother’s connections. Elizabeth Taylor had used her maiden name he’d read once, signed her paintings Elizabeth Anderson, and the stylized signature was there in the left hand corner. Her work was distinctive, and even though her style was impressionistic, she used bold colors rather than the more subdued ones Casey was used to seeing in many paintings of that style.

The child had to be Riah. There was a possibility it was Emma, he supposed, but he was pretty sure it was Riah. She looked about three or four, and her pale blonde hair swung forward along her jaw. She wore a vivid blue dress and tennis shoes nearly the same color. Ariel looked quite young on the canvas as she sat smiling at the little girl who held a tiny, delicate tea cup for her teddy bear. They sat on a quilt in the grass surrounded by trees and flowers.

“I thought you might like to have it,” Ariel told Riah. Casey was surprised to hear a hint of embarrassment in his mother-in-law’s voice.

“I don’t remember this,” Riah said, and Casey squeezed her hip. She looked a little like she wanted to cry.

Her mother smiled. “I don’t think you ever saw it. Your grandmother never showed it, and even I only saw it after she died.”

“Thank you,” Riah said barely above a whisper. Casey looked at her, wondered if it was the painting’s subject that had her sounding near tears or if it was the staggering value the painting would have if she ever chose to sell it. “I still have the tea set,” she added, her voice a little stronger, a little louder. “It’s in Ottawa.”

V. H. bent and looked. “That looks our garden in Toronto,” he said quietly. “The two of you used to do that for hours.” He gave Riah a crooked grin. “You ruined more teddy bears than I can count. Your mother used to joke that she would have to buy the company that made them to make sure the day didn’t come when she couldn’t replace the stained ones.”

Once more, Casey was reminded that his wife came from a world very different than his own. Riah lifted her brows. “It never occurred to you that most mothers didn’t put real tea in the pot?”

Her mother laughed. “I tried that, but you threw a fit. V. H.’s mother had always given you cold tea, and you had come to expect it.”

“Then it didn’t occur to you to simply wash the bears?”

Casey could tell by Ariel’s expression that it had, actually, never occurred to her.

His wife saved Casey’s present for last. She undid the paper, opened the velvet box inside, and stared at the sapphire pendant it held. The stone was a good match for the ones in the bracelet his mother had given her on their wedding day. It was a simple setting, hidden gold holding the oval stone that was about the size of her thumbnail strung on a gold chain. Riah kissed him a promise, one Casey really liked and made her father groan miserably.

He was baffled by the first package he opened from her. It contained dark plaid fabric. When Casey lifted it, it was a skirt. He frowned at her, and Riah laughed. He cocked a brow, ground out, “I’m not wearing a damned skirt.”

Emma laughed, too. “It’s a kilt, but I don’t recognize the tartan.”

“It’s the US Marine Corps tartan,” Riah said with a broad grin. There was a light in her eyes that raised his suspicions when she handed him a small box. “This goes with it.”

Inside was a gold and silver pin. The emblem attached to the pin’s sword was easily recognizable as the Marine Corps’ eagle, globe and anchor. “Kilt pin,” Riah told him. She leaned closer and whispered, “You _definitely_ have the legs for it.”

“Not wearing it,” he insisted again, but he was amused, wondered if the Corps really had a tartan and the kilt was legit.

“Not even for me?” Riah asked in a low voice that didn’t beg but held a note that made him think he might—once, in their bedroom with no cameras anywhere as long as she took it off as soon as he got it on.

There was a third box, this one long and rectangular with some weight to it. Inside was a 1936 Winchester Model 70. He ran a lustful hand over the stock. The Marine Corps had used them as sniper rifles after World War II began, and they were considered one of the best guns ever made. He stroked the barrel, fingered the bolt action, and then he kissed his wife a promise of his own. Riah murmured, “I considered a Purdey shotgun, but I figured you’d be angry since you’d have to go to London and be fitted for it, and we could buy a house for what it costs.”

Casey knew what she’d given him wasn’t cheap, but he’d far rather have it than a gun too pretty to use. Despite the fact this one was practically a museum piece, he planned to use it at least once, anyway, to see if it lived up to its reputation.

When he was able to deliver on that kiss, it was late, and Riah was obviously tired. So was Casey, but not too tired, especially since that thing she’d bought for their wedding night made a surprise reappearance. He had a whole new appreciation of what it did for her—him, too.

Unlike the night before when Riah had attacked him, Casey chose the opposite route, slow, gentle, and very, very thorough. His wife seemed quite content to match his chosen pace, mirrored some of his movements, and when he pulled her close afterward, she snuggled into him, her head on his shoulder with their legs still tangled.

Then Casey remembered her early morning promise. “You were supposed to show me what I taught you,” he reminded her.

She tilted her head up, smiled sleepily. “Are you saying you didn’t like that?”

“Didn’t say that,” he rumbled.

Riah breathed in deeply and let it sigh out slowly. “If you let me get a little sleep, I’ll be happy to show you a few things I’ve learned since I’ve known you.”

From the sound of her reply, Casey figured she was on her way to sleep. Given neither of them had had much sleep the night before, he was willing to let Riah make the trip, though he did add, “I thought the deal was for things I taught you.”

“That, too,” she promised and settled in to sleep.

 

\-------X-------

 

Among the things her father had insisted on when she was a child, was a silent alarm system for the house, which was why Mariah knew what was going on when the bedroom lights lit and a small, red light on the wall opposite flashed on and off. She sat up, momentarily terrified. As she came more fully awake, she realized that the lights had not lit in the part of the master suite on the other side of the half walls from her bed where she had set up Victoria’s crib. Nor had her daughter awakened. She didn’t know whether to worry more about that or about the probable reason the alarm triggered: Someone had made it past her father’s men and broken into the house.

John sat up as well, instantly awake, and grabbed his weapon, demanded to know what was going on. Mariah couldn’t speak. He took one look at her face and said, “Get some clothes on and get Victoria.”

Her hands shook so badly she could barely get the long-sleeved shirt over her head and pull on the jeans she found in the first drawer she opened. John pulled on a black t-shirt and jeans before yanking on shoes. Mariah didn’t bother with shoes; instead, she pulled the locked gun case out of the bottom nightstand drawer and retrieved her own weapon before she stuffed extra ammunition in her pockets. John watched her even as he hunted and found another gun in his luggage.

“There’s a safe room in the basement,” she told him as she checked her weapon.

John’s phone buzzed. He looked at the message. “Your dad says your mother and the others are already there, but we’re cut off.” He looked at her across the bed. “Get Victoria. We’ll need to improvise.”

When John headed out the door, she sought solutions. Her closet was a walk-in, huge, and there was a storage chest for linens that had come from her great grandmother. It was the size of a large freezer. Mariah could make enough room for her and Victoria, prop the lid slightly to make sure they could breathe and hope no one looked too closely for them. She quickly shifted the contents in the chest and then returned to the bedroom.

She started toward Victoria’s crib, but the bedroom door opened before she could get there. There were three of them, and to make matters worse, she recognized the one in back. That meant they had not only managed to get past her father’s men, but they had managed to get past John and her father. Mariah reminded herself that she hadn’t heard gunshots, the guns John had left with hadn’t been fitted with silencers, but none of the men before her had silencers, either. She lifted her own weapon and trained it on the third man rather than one of the ones who were actually armed. That didn’t stop the man in the doorway, though.

“Hello, darlin’.”

Mariah locked her limbs, refused to give him the satisfaction of letting him see her shake. She was shaking all too well on the inside. The problem was, it was just dark enough in the sitting area where he and the others stood to remind her of Edmonton, where they had met, which made it that much harder.

The two who were armed fanned out, but Mariah kept her weapon trained on the man now leaning against the doorjamb. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?” he asked.

He wasn’t her friend, so she considered shooting him on principle. Her finger refused to cooperate, though.

As she watched, he pushed away from the door and strolled toward her. Mariah wondered where John and her father were. One of the men had managed to work his way behind her, and now he put his gun to her temple. “Drop it.”

She flicked the safety on and slowly moved her hands apart, bent carefully down, and placed the handgun onto the thick rug. The man holding the gun to her head kicked it to the side as he jerked her upright once more.

The unarmed man leaned over Victoria’s crib, but Mariah’s throat was frozen so she couldn’t get out the words to tell him to leave her daughter alone. That was only partly because she felt the tightness start in her chest, felt the air refuse to fill her lungs.

Mariah should have shot him while she had the chance. John would have.

Then she worried about her husband, hoped, since she hadn’t heard any shots, he’d managed to get safely to the rest of her family. Her lungs froze. Mariah hoped they all got out of this unharmed and alive, but as she met the man from Edmonton’s cold stare, she knew she wasn’t getting out of this unharmed—probably not alive, either.

Strangely, that was kind of liberating, and the air came again. Though her body remained tense, her breathing wasn’t free. She wanted that man away from her daughter. Mariah wondered how to change his focus from Victoria to her.

“Sound sleeper you’ve got there,” he said, looking up at her as he took his hands out of his pockets where he’d shoved them when he leaned against the door frame. “Maybe we won’t have to drug her to keep her quiet.”

And with those words, Mariah was back in her childhood, back in the nightmare of being taken in the dark, drugged, held captive and tortured. She made herself not think of that, forced herself to focus on the man watching her daughter, and she resolved that no matter what they might do to her, they were not going to take Victoria.

Oddly, that helped her pull herself together a bit more, and she began running through possibilities. She started forward when he reached into the crib for her daughter, but the man behind her grabbed her. Mariah’s training kicked in. One of the first things she had learned—long before the Institute—was how to escape from someone who grabbed her from behind. She did so quickly, efficiently, and with maximum pain to the man who had grabbed her.

Mariah expected him to grab her again, but the man in front of her signaled him to back off.

“Now, darlin’, I really wish you hadn’t done that,” said the one who had done all the talking so far. Mariah found herself staring at the silencer on the end of the weapon he drew. She re-evaluated the possible safety of her family. “If you’d just cooperated, this could have been quite painless for you. We’d have let you come along and take care of the kid. Now, I’m afraid, we might have to kill you.”

He raised the gun, steadied his hand and sighted down the barrel of his weapon. Mariah tried to seize on that might, but the longer she met his gaze, the more certain she was that that was exactly what he wanted her to do. He had never intended her to survive this, to go with them. He had only been there for Victoria.

It was odd to her that what she thought about with that realization was John and all the trouble she had caused him. Mariah would have thought it would be Victoria she thought of, perhaps her parents or Emma. There was no life flashing before her eyes; there was simply frigid terror holding her body frozen and thoughts of John.

She heard a gunshot downstairs. The man who held her daughter told the other two men in a flat voice without taking his eyes from Mariah’s, “Go kill her husband.”

Mariah’s fears shifted. She waited until the men were gone to say, “Since you’re going to kill me,” and she was surprised that her voice was relatively steady, “you could at least tell me what this is about.”

“Well, darlin’,” he drawled, “I think you know.”

An eerie kind of calm settled over her. Mariah was aware of thinking two things simultaneously: if she kept him talking, it gave John time to get to them, and if she kept him talking, she stayed alive that much longer.

“Humor me,” she said.

“My friends tell me genetics may play an interesting role in the Intersect,” he told her. “You were able to do it, so the chances are good this little one can, too.”

Mariah felt lightheaded, though she had known this was at the root of why they were after them. She jumped a little when she heard a crash below. “But I wasn’t able to do it,” she reminded him quietly. Her ears strained to pick up sounds from the rest of the house.

“No, you were.” He gave her a cold smile. “It was right kind of you to isolate yourselves this way,” he told her. “We really should have moved before your dad and Colonel Casey turned up, but it seemed a kindness to let you spend one Christmas together before we took her.”

It was nothing of the sort, Mariah nearly snapped. She had no intention of letting him take her daughter. Instead, she cocked a brow and asked coldly, “Am I supposed to thank you for that?”

He gave her a lazy grin. “Well, now, that would be up to you.”

Mariah saw movement from the corner of her eye, but she didn’t look to see what it was. It was human, and it had darted through the open door from the hallway. If it was John, she didn’t want to alert the man in front of her, but if it was one of his men, it would do her no good. She did, though, decide keeping him talking would be in her best interests. “I won’t, you know,” she assured him, “but I am curious as to why you’re taking an active role here when you were decidedly hands off in Edmonton.”

“Nice try,” he told her. She met his flat gaze. “Laurance was an idiot. What happened there should never have gone down the way it did. Be thankful we decided to be more direct this time.”

Her teeth ground together, and her voice was tight when Mariah said, “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m not grateful.”

She kept her eyes off her father creeping up behind the man who held her daughter. Because she had stayed focused on the man aiming a weapon at her, Mariah wasn’t sure what had happened to his men, though she hoped what she had seen from the corner of her eye had been John because it increased the probability her family was fine and this man wouldn’t remain free to do this again.

“Mariah,” her father said calmly as he pressed his gun into the back of the man’s skull, “take Victoria.”

She froze, though, because she saw the man begin to flex his finger on the trigger of the weapon pointed at her forehead.

Her husband’s quiet, deadly voice came from the right: “Do as your father says.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. Mariah simply couldn’t move. She felt lightheaded. She didn’t think she could do it, but then Victoria finally decided to protest being held by a stranger. It took all she had to reach forward and take her daughter from the man in front of her despite a deep-seated desire to snatch her from him. He flashed another smile and put his hands up. Her father took his gun, and Mariah collapsed to the floor. Victoria began to scream, probably because Mariah squeezed her far more tightly than she should as she clung to her daughter and tried to breathe.

 

\-------X-------

 

When he left the bedroom, Casey found V. H. easily. The man ran toward him along the hallway leading to the other end of the open gallery. They each stopped, put their backs to walls and eased to look down at the living room below. Casey considered the house’s now-obvious design flaw as his eyes shot back to V. H. There were three men below. He’d been careful not to let Riah see it, but he slipped a silencer from his pocket and screwed it onto his SIG. He shot the first one to step onto the stairs, and then he shot the other two.

V. H. waved him across. Casey darted into the open and across to the hall where the other man waited.

“Mariah?”

Casey said, “Getting Victoria.”

There were stairs at the other end of the hall, and they moved quickly to them. Adderly quietly explained that the safe room was at the bottom. Casey considered going back for his wife and daughter, but they met another bad guy. Casey saved his bullets, in part because he wanted badly to hit something. It took two swings to put the goon down before he secured the man with the zip tie V. H. handed him. They left him inside one of the bedrooms. V. H. radioed his men the bad guy’s location.

At the bottom of the stairs, Casey noticed they were underground. He didn’t look at the huge collection of wine. Instead, he proceeded slowly, looked for intruders through the murky light of the cellar while he and V. H. made their way to the safe room. V. H. put in a code, and the door no sooner opened than Ariel gave Casey a hostile glare before she demanded, “Where are Mariah and Victoria?”

Since he couldn’t answer the question, Casey ignored it. About to tell V. H. he was going back after them, he caught movement. Tersely, he told V. H., “Bogey.”

“Not one of mine,” V. H. answered and then told Riah’s family. “Stay here. Don’t open the door for anyone,” before he closed them in again.

This time, they were shot at, and Casey shot back, killed the man instantly.

V. H. didn’t pretend to be upset, simply toed the corpse and said, “We’d better go to Mariah.”

They met two thugs coming down the stairs. Casey and V. H. had just hit the landing on the first floor. They ran toward the kitchen, drew the two men after them. Amazing, Casey thought, what a cast-iron griddle swung with full-force could do to a man’s face. Curious, he looked at the man where he lay unconscious and wondered how long the lines the grill side had embedded in the man’s skin would last.

V. H. had taken the other one down, and they left them there, made their way upstairs. Casey worried even more when he recognized the voice coming from the bedroom he and Riah shared.

Finley had found her.

Casey went in first after he saw that only Riah, Victoria, and Finley were inside. At least he hoped they were the only ones inside. It was possible someone crouched behind the half walls separating the part of the large space where the bed was from the sitting room where Riah had put Victoria’s crib. Someone could be lurking in the closet or the large bathroom, too, for that matter.

He thought Riah had seen him, so he eased around to the left. His wife kept her eyes on the man holding his daughter, and Casey’s temper ticked up that Finley had dared to even touch Victoria. He stepped on something, took a quick look down, and saw Riah’s Glock on the rug.

V. H. moved silently behind Finley while Casey moved further into position after he picked up the Glock. He spared a long glance at Riah. She looked on the edge, but so far she was holding it together. The fact that she kept Finley talking helped hide any noise he or V. H. might make.

He really hated that he had to agree with the man that Laurance was an idiot, and Casey debated whether or not his finger would “slip” or whether he would allow the man to be taken alive so he could join Laurance, compare notes. His choice was to kill the man and hope no one else had to learn about the Montreal Project or his wife. Casey had a feeling, though, that the information they had taken had already worked its way up the Ring’s food chain.

V. H. finally pressed the muzzle of his gun against the back of the man’s skull. It was a risky move, Casey knew, since the man could choose to risk the bullet or could get lucky and do damage that meant V. H. went down or at least lost his weapon. Casey listened as Riah’s father told her to take Victoria.

Despite keeping his eyes locked on Finley, he could tell Riah might not have heard her father. Her body was rigid. Casey tensed his finger on his trigger as he saw Finley reflexively do the same. He would put the animal down before her father got the chance if Finley shot Riah, but given the man had his gun aimed at her forehead, chances were good the man would kill her.

When Riah did nothing, though, Casey told her, “Do as your father says.”

For a moment, he thought she might faint. He suspected it was only as Victoria began to warm up to full wail that Riah snapped out of whatever scary place she had gone to finally reach out and take their daughter. He remained on point, held his SIG steady and pointed at Finley where it would definitely kill him if Casey had to fire. He knew Riah was still at risk, Victoria, too. He didn’t relax until the man apparently decided to put his hands up. Casey watched V. H. take his gun and step back, ordered him on his knees. Casey continued to keep his weapon trained on Finley even though what he really wanted was to scoop up his family and move them as far away from the man as he could.

It was only after V. H. had the man restrained and two of his operatives arrived that Casey lowered the SIG and went to Riah.

He could hear it, the rasp for breath over Victoria’s cries. He debated taking his daughter, but it was obvious her mother’s arms were locked tightly enough around the baby Casey was afraid they might hurt Victoria if he tried. “Breathe, honey,” he said as he knelt next to Riah. “I need you to breathe.” Her face turned to his. He could see it, see the terror mingled with something else, something a little like relief, but what worried him more was the wheeze as she fought to relax and simply breathe.

Someone had apparently let Riah’s family out of the safe room since Ariel sailed in followed by Emma. Riah’s mother turned on V. H. and chewed him out for locking them in. Given her volume, Casey couldn’t have ignored her tirade about changed security codes and how dare V. H. do that to her if he’d wanted.

It wasn’t his fight, though, and he supposed he should just be happy Ariel wasn’t turning that vitriol on him. He did wish she’d taken it somewhere else, though, especially since Riah was struggling with an anxiety attack and didn’t need her parents’ contribution. Casey sat next to his wife, wrapped an arm around her, and leaned her into him. Riah simply went even stiffer than she’d already been, though he was pretty certain it was the argument her parents engaged in, not his touch, that caused it. The wheezing finally stopped, though she seemed completely unable to get a single bit of air in her lungs. Her eyes were huge in her pale face. Casey feared she’d actually suffocate. As a result, he glared at Ariel and bit succinctly, “Shut the fuck up, Ariel. For once in your goddamned life, just _shut_ the _fuck up_!”

He turned his attention back to Riah, reminded her softly to breathe, grateful that the room was silent for a few moments in the wake of his outburst. V. H. dragged his ex out, and Casey could hear the argument pick up again, though he couldn’t hear the words.

When Emma knelt in front of them, she told her sister gently, “Mariah, let me take Victoria.”

The baby’s screams increased as Riah’s arms tightened even more. “Let Emma take her,” he echoed. “Victoria needs you to let her go so she can breathe, too.”

That sank in, he guessed, since Riah’s arms loosened enough Emma could take their daughter. He nodded thanks at his sister-in-law and then turned his attention back to Riah. “You need to breathe,” he told her calmly. “You need to relax so you can breathe.”

He narrowed his eyes at Ben MacKenzie when the other man took Emma’s place. He watched closely as the man checked her pulse and her breathing. “I think we should sedate her.”

His eyes narrowed. That seemed to be Ariel and MacKenzie’s answer to everything concerning Riah, and Casey wondered if she’d spent a good part of her childhood in a stupor so that she wasn’t a problem. “No.”

Clearly, MacKenzie was going to argue, and Casey’s temper went hotter. Before the other man could repeat or explain, Casey made an explanation of his own. “She nurses Victoria, and unless you can assure me the drugs won’t find their way to our daughter, you’re not putting them in her.”

Riah’s body softened a fraction, so Casey knew she heard. That might simply have been that her terror of needles had been eased by his refusal to let MacKenzie use one.

“She can’t breathe, Casey,” the other man tried.

“Ten minutes,” Casey shot back. “The average attack lasts ten minutes according to most studies.” Furious, he admitted, even if only to himself, that he’d read that research, but it still irritated him to sound like some idiot who lived in a library. It felt to him as though she’d been gasping for ten times that long, so he seriously hoped they were nearing the end of that window. Her fingers dug into his bicep, but he ignored the pain, kept his eyes locked on her stepfather.

The only sounds in their bedroom were those of Victoria crying, Emma trying to soothe her, and Riah desperately trying to draw air.

MacKenzie frowned, shook his head and stood, walked toward the door. As he watched him go, Casey felt Riah relax a little more, heard her breathing ease a fraction. He murmured to her as he got her to her feet before he practically dragged her to the end of the bed. He sat, settled her into his lap, and listened to Emma try and calm Victoria even as he tried to do the same for his wife. The moment finally came when he heard her draw a relatively normal breath. Riah buried her face in his neck as her arms went around him.

Only then did he consider that he should have been helping V. H.’s men make sure the idiots they’d subdued were under lock and key.

Riah pushed away from him, but Casey tightened his own arms around her. She looked ill, and she whispered breathlessly, “Victoria?”

He looked. Emma had walked her out of the room. Just as he was about to call out for her to bring their daughter back, Emma did, though Ariel trailed her. Victoria still fretted, but her screaming had stopped. Casey eased Riah a little further away. As her sister handed her their daughter, Ariel snapped a curt, “She’s hungry.”

Riah wearily closed her eyes. He was certain she felt as exhausted as she looked. Casey considered telling Ariel again to shut up, but when he looked up at her furious face, he decided not to risk setting Riah off again. He was not going to apologize, no matter how much Ariel likely thought he should.

Victoria seemed equally tired, but she still cried. Riah began to slowly lift her shirt so she could nurse her.

For his part, Casey gave Ariel a hard stare that told her to get the hell out. She crossed her arms and told her daughter, “You need to start keeping some bottles for her.”

Riah leaned into Casey and turned her face back into his neck. “Get out,” he said, though without the vitriol he really wanted to use.

To his surprise, Ariel did, and he was glad she closed the door when she did so.

“Don’t let me go,” Riah whispered.

“Never,” he promised.

When Victoria finished, he took her from Riah, who slid off his lap onto the bed. He rubbed his daughter’s back and watched his wife. “If you’re about to say you hate Christmas,” he began, remembered her words after her last birthday, “technically this isn’t Christmas.”

“I don’t want to stay here.” Riah righted her shirt.

Casey knew he’d have to insist—despite the fact they’d caught Finley and his men—that V. H. have time to put security measures in place before they left, so he chose his words carefully. “We should wait for daylight.”

Falling back against the disturbed bedcovers, Riah closed her eyes. “Let’s at least sleep in a different room.”

After he changed Victoria, he put her beside Riah and went to clean his hands. When he returned, Casey lay down beside them. “Are there any unoccupied bedrooms?” he asked. The master suite was the only one on this side of the open gallery that bisected the second story.

“If Mum’s not sleeping in Ben or Emma’s room, there isn’t up here, but there’s a housekeeper’s room downstairs.”

Rolling closer, Casey slid a hand on her hip. Riah lay on her side facing him with Victoria between them. “What will you need?”

“You,” she said. Then she frowned and sighed, “Victoria’s things.”

He gathered what she told him, stuck them in Victoria’s diaper bag and helped Riah up. They crossed the open gallery to the hall across from them. Riah quickly made her way down it to the room closest to the stairs Casey and V. H. had taken earlier. She knocked softly on the door, and when no one answered, she opened it.

“This is my old room,” Riah told him softly as she closed the door behind him. The walls were a pale purplish color, and the room was dominated by a full-bed. It was a modern take on a four-poster, black iron with white bedding. Not a thing marked that she’d ever lived in this room. Come to think of it, there’d been nothing in the master suite to make it hers, either. It struck Casey that the house was more like a series of hotel rooms or a rented cabin. Nice, homey features, but nothing revealed anything about the owner.

Riah wilted before his eyes. She turned, looked around.

“What?” he asked.

“There’s nowhere for her to sleep.”

Casey was not dismantling and moving Victoria’s crib. It was nearing dawn, and Riah needed sleep—so did he. He looked around, focused on a deep drawer in her dresser. He walked over, pulled it out enough to see if it was empty, and when he saw it was, he removed it from the dresser. He walked it to Riah’s side of the bed, set it on the floor, and then he looked in her closet, took out a quilt and a couple of blankets. She stood near the door and watched him make a nest inside the drawer for Victoria. “Not ideal,” he admitted, “but it’ll do for a few hours.”

Their daughter had apparently worn herself out earlier because when Casey took her from her mother, she was sound asleep. She didn’t wake when he settled her in the drawer, either.

Returning to Riah, he drew her to the bed, undressed her, and put her between the crisp, white sheets. He stripped and joined her. He was a little surprised she couldn’t settle in, though. She moved restlessly against him, clung to him. Casey let her, held her, and waited to see if she’d go to sleep or decide to talk.

“I’m going to sell this house,” she said quietly about the time he decided she might have slipped into sleep.

“It’s your house.” Casey kept his tone neutral, though he wondered if she might change her mind when the shock of having it invaded wore off.

Babble to rival Bartowski started then: “I’m never here,” Riah said, “and it’s too big for just me, anyway. Us. It’s too big for us,” she corrected. “I doubt your work is ever going to put us in Newfoundland often or for very long, so it doesn’t make sense to keep a house here. I guess it would make more sense to find a place in St. John’s if we were going to spend time here, but I don’t want this house.”

As she continued to ramble about selling the house, Casey wondered first what her mother would think if Riah did so. Next, he remembered how he had stopped a similar case of babble once before and wondered if the same tactic might not calm her down. Shifting closer, he cupped her cheek, and her words stopped. Casey leaned in, kissed her. “Do whatever makes you happy,” he told her, “but don’t make a decision you might come to regret just yet.”

“I just want this to stop,” Riah said, but her whisper still sounded like a wail.

He kissed her forehead, certain they were getting to what really troubled her. “With any luck, it will now.”

“I want this out of my head.”

Bartowski’s father had done that for Chuck, but that had been Stephen Bartowski’s design. Casey wondered if ISI had lost their records or if someone had just stolen copies. He’d talk to V. H. in the morning, insist that the elder Bartowski be allowed to look at the designs for whatever the Canadians had done to Riah. Casey was certain the man could do what she wanted, but he knew the Canadians would have to cooperate.

“I don’t want Victoria to be in danger, John.”

“Agreed.” He had a feeling she wouldn’t be the cause of that, that people would make their daughter a target as much because of him as because of Riah. Casey couldn’t promise they’d be safe, though, so he didn’t. “You need sleep, Riah.”

Her hand stroked his cheek, and then her thumb glided lightly over his lower lip. He settled her a little closer. “Love me, John.”

Casey accepted her invitation, did as she asked, and afterward, he lay awake, listened to her even breathing as Riah slept, and wondered how to take the targets permanently off his family.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a good time for a reminder about the adult content warning. . . .

 

When Casey woke, he wasn’t sure what time it was, but based on the quality of the watery light coming though the curtains, it had to be midmorning at the earliest, noon at the latest. Riah was mostly on top of him, and Victoria was quiet. He eased Riah off him, looked over at where his daughter slept, and decided the two them deserved to sleep longer. Casey, though, had things to do.

He pulled on his boxers and jeans, scooped up his shirt, and let himself quietly out of the bedroom. He walked the length of the hallway to cross the open gallery to the master suite. Emma leaving it stopped him.

Curious, he waited for the girl. “Are Mariah and Victoria alright?”

“Sleeping,” he told her.

She nodded, but then Emma raised her brows and gave him an impudent grin and a sweep of the eyes. “I definitely get why Mariah apparently likes to jump you.” Casey’s jaw dropped. Emma’s grin broadened as she walked around him to return to her own room.

Casey shook his head, entered the room he and Riah had abandoned. Somewhere between the door and the bathroom, he figured out Riah told her sister a lot more about their sex life than she probably ought to.

When he had showered, shaved, and dressed, he checked on his wife and daughter—both of whom were still asleep—before he went downstairs. V. H. and the man in charge of Riah’s security teams were at the kitchen table.

V. H. tilted his head toward the coffeepot. Casey helped himself before joining them at the table.

“Riah wants to go home,” Casey announced, meeting his father-in-law’s eyes.

“I figured she would,” her father sighed. “Obviously, though, you didn’t look outside.”

Casey frowned. The security chief—Curtiss, he thought—said, “No one’s going anywhere until the snow stops and the roads are cleared.”

“Did you at least get that bastard and his men out of here?” Casey asked.

The two men nodded. “They’re cooling their heels in St. John’s,” V. H. told him.

It would have to do, Casey decided, though he would have preferred they were in the wine cellar below them, so he could take a few cracks at the cowboy. His second choice would be a maximum-security facility far away. Or dead. He’d be happy with dead.

Of course dead only meant Finley alone wouldn’t be a problem. That didn’t mean anyone with whom the bastard had worked wouldn’t remain a threat. Casey considered asking to have a bit of time alone with Finley, get some useful answers out of the man. If the other man chose to insist it be personally painful, Casey wouldn’t mind obliging.

He met V. H.’s eyes. “She’s going to insist.”

“She can insist all she wants,” her father said, “but until we can safely get out, we’re all staying put.”

Casey looked at Curtiss. “Any idea how soon that might be?”

The other man shrugged. “Snow’s supposed to stop early tomorrow. We’ll have to see about the rest.”

In truth, Casey knew part of Riah’s desire to leave was down to fear, and in part he knew it was an attempt to put the night’s events out of sight, out of mind. It might do her some good to stay a while now the threat was removed, and with MacKenzie around, maybe the other man could help settle her—preferably without sedatives. He shot another look at the security chief. The man obvious read expressions well since he excused himself. When he was alone with V. H., Casey told him, “She says she wants to sell the house.”

The other man’s brows shot up. “She loves this place, has always refused to sell it in the past.”

Casey cocked his head

Color stained V. H.’s face. “I’ve tried for years to get her to sell it,” he admitted. “She’s always felt safe here, though, and despite the fact she’s spent less and less time in Newfoundland, I think she’s always felt it was home.”

That, Casey knew, was probably because it was where Riah had lived after she had been taken as a child. He suspected it had been the only really stable home she’d had during her childhood, even if it had been her grandparents rather than her parents who had lived there with her. Now, though, that security had been breached, and she no longer felt safe.

Once more he thought about the fact that there was really very little in the house that reflected Riah or her ownership, so Casey wondered if what her father said was really true, if she truly saw this as home. Her apartment in Ottawa, by contrast, had clearly shown Riah’s mark. Then again, if she was rarely here, there was no need to tempt thieves by leaving valuable items in an out-of-the-way house with no permanent resident. On the other hand, there was a small fortune in wine downstairs that might have had its attractions for young vandals—or serious collectors. He lifted his cup. “I told her not to make any rash decisions.”

“About what?” Ariel asked as she entered the kitchen.

Casey sought a suitable deflection, but V. H. raised his brows and then turned to look at his former partner. “Mariah told Casey last night she wants to sell this house.”

Ariel crossed her arms and leaned her hips back against the counter near the coffeepot. “Mariah loves it here.” Her eyes narrowed on Casey. “What did you say to her?”

_Of course_ , he thought. She would lay the blame for her daughter’s decision on him. He tried a conciliatory tone. “Not a thing, Ariel. She was upset, and her response was to say she wanted to sell this place. I’m sure when the shock of last night wears off, she’ll change her mind.”

The woman dropped her arms and stepped closer to him, though Casey noticed she stayed safely out of reach. He sat up straighter and tensed. “I did not appreciate how you spoke to me last night,” she told him in a low, angry voice.

“I didn’t appreciate the fact that you made what was already an unbearable situation for my wife worse.” That came out through clenched teeth, and Casey had to consciously unfist his hand.

“This is all your fault,” she shot back, then ignored V. H. hissing her name. “That man would never have come after my daughter if it weren’t for you.”

Casey unfolded himself to stand and lean toward her as his hand curled tightly closed again. “ _That man_ first went after your daughter before I even met her,” he bit out. “ _That man_ went after her because you insisted on doing what you’d been warned _not_ to when she was five.”

Ariel hissed in a sharp breath. If she’d looked even remotely sorry or hurt, Casey might have backed down, might have considered letting it go, but she simply went incandescently angry and spat, “ _How dare you_?”

“There’s a lot I dare,” he assured her. “I’m not afraid of you, and I can do you far more harm than you can do me, Ariel, so check any threats you might consider making. My wife has spent most of her life at risk because you let some moron pin a target on her that can’t be removed. My daughter now wears the same target simply because _you_ chose to be bullheaded and do what _you_ wanted instead of what you’d been told was best for Mariah, so don’t you _dare_ try and pin what happened last night on _me_!”

She paled, shook with the anger that snapped in those frigid blue eyes of hers. “I’ve always done what’s best for my daughter!”

“No,” Casey ground out, “you haven’t.”

Before Ariel could retort, Riah’s voice ordered, “Stop it!” Casey’s eyes swung to where his wife stood in the doorway. Her voice shook when she added, “Just stop it.”

He regretted Riah had walked in on that, regretted she’d heard that argument since she looked as though she might be ill. On the other hand, a confrontation with Ariel had been inevitable, though Casey hadn’t been entirely sure when it would come or what it would be about. He could have ignored her, could have done as he sometimes did and seethed silently, but for whatever reason, this time he hadn’t been able to do so. He was not apologizing, though. He hadn’t said a thing that wasn’t true, so Casey refused to say he regretted telling Ariel a few hard truths.

Then again, they were all stuck in this house, and an armed camp wasn’t going to help Riah.

She had wrapped her robe tightly around her, held it closed as though she were outside in the freezing cold. Casey started to go to her, but V. H. caught his arm and stopped him. Reminded of the man’s presence, he wondered why his father-in-law hadn’t interceded in the argument. To his surprise, Ariel apologized—to her daughter, at least.

“I’m sorry,” Arial told Riah tightly. Her voice softened when she added, “You know I get carried away, Mariah, and that’s all this was.”

Her daughter looked unconvinced. “Mum, I love you,” Riah said quietly, “but if you can’t find a way to get along with my husband, you aren’t welcome.”

“Casey—“ Ariel started, but Riah cut her right off.

“ _Is_ my husband,” she told her mother firmly. Casey admired the steel with which she added, “Don’t make me choose, Mum, because you won’t like the choice I make.”

Ariel wasn’t finished though. “He—“

His wife wasn’t having any of it, though. “I repeat, Mum, you won’t like my decision.”

“Riah,” Casey said softly. She shot him a look, and he saw that despite the fact she stood up to her mother, she wasn’t quite as strong as she appeared. He nearly apologized, too, when he saw the haunted look in her eyes.

“You, too, John. Since we’re all stuck here for a while longer, learn to get along, or stay the hell away from each other.” She dropped her arms and walked closer to him. “The past is past,” Riah said, and looked at her mother before she looked back at him. “Both of you need to let it go.”

Until Riah stepped forward, he hadn’t noticed Emma. The younger girl held Victoria, and when she handed his daughter to him, Emma said, “Right. Now that the yelling is over, breakfast or lunch?”

Casey snorted. This was the Emma he liked, practical and skilled at deflecting attention to safer shores. They settled on breakfast. Riah and Emma prepared it while Ariel took a seat as far away as she could get from the chair Casey occupied. Victoria squirmed now and again, made noises while her grandfather kept up a conversation that ranged from the weather to Emma’s first quarter of college to US-Canadian relations.

As he watched his wife move about the kitchen, Casey gave some thought to more personal US-Canadian relations. He heard an exasperated sigh from Ariel and shot a look her way. He cheered at the realization she knew what he had been thinking as he stared at Riah.

So he was petty, took pleasure in Ariel’s displeasure, but he would do as Riah asked. If he couldn’t be civil to her mother, he’d stay away from her. Casey wouldn’t incite, but he wasn’t going to just roll over and take it if Ariel failed to observe the same rules. He’d simply wait until Riah was out of earshot if that happened.

Casey continued to watch his wife, tried to judge her mental state as she focused on cooking and occasionally responded to her father or Emma. Riah was tense, looked tired, which was understandable, all things considered. Casey decided he would see to it that his wife caught up on her rest by personally supervising a nap after they ate. If Victoria wasn’t willing to cooperate, he felt certain Emma would be willing to distract her for them.

They were joined by MacKenzie as Riah and Emma served French toast, eggs, and bacon, and the meal passed pleasantly. Ariel shooed Riah out, told her daughter she’d see to cleaning up, so Casey scooped Victoria up from her bassinette and followed his wife upstairs. He left her in the room where they had finished the night and returned to the master suite for the clothes Riah requested. While he found what she asked for, Casey decided that if she wanted to spend another night in her old room, he’d probably need to move Victoria’s crib.

Riah used the bathroom across the hall while Casey stretched out with Victoria on the bed. He studied his daughter as she lay on her back and moved arms and legs as though she were trying to catch some invisible, elusive prey. She seemed happy, he thought, watching her alert eyes ricochet here and there. The noises she made varied from gurgles to something that sounded surprisingly like a chuckle. “What’s so funny?” he asked softly, and her head turned toward him slightly.

For a split second, he felt like an idiot talking to an infant who couldn’t talk back to him, but, Casey decided what the hell. It wasn’t as if there was anyone nearby to hear him.

When he said nothing further, though, Victoria went back to what she had been doing while Casey wondered what she thought—if anything. He wondered if she had any idea the danger she’d been in the night before, wondered if she retained any of what had happened, or if after sleeping her brain had reset. He had to admit he hoped she had no idea what had happened. Then Casey wondered if humans had to learn to be afraid or if it was instinctual. He thought back to his own childhood, but he couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t known what he needed to fear and what he didn’t.

As he continued to watch his daughter and consider how best to protect her, Riah returned, dressed this time. Casey wished she had come back in her robe—if not just a towel. She’d braided her still-damp hair before returning to him. Riah dropped her gown and robe on the end of the dresser before she climbed on the side of the bed opposite him. She caught one of Victoria’s hands while Casey watched her smile at their daughter.

He reached over, slid a hand on Riah’s hip and met her eyes when she looked up at him. “We could just hide out here.”

Riah bit her lip and dropped her eyes. “That’s one way to avoid any more arguments.”

“About that.” Casey waited until Riah met his eyes again. “Sorry.”

She shook her head. “Since she gave me an earful before she went downstairs, I suspect that was probably more Mum’s fault than yours.” Riah sighed. “I don’t think I can take any more disagreements, John, no matter who or what they involve.”

As he gave her hip a slight squeeze, he asked, “What did she say to you?”

Riah, who had been leaning on an elbow lay down, her head on the pillow and watched him. “She wanted me to go with her, London maybe, rather than go home. She offered to hire me bodyguards so Victoria and I would be safe.”

Casey felt his jaw tighten.

“I told her we’d be perfectly safe with you,” she said softly. “I would have told her I could take care of us myself, but after last night, that’s apparently not true.”

“You managed,” he assured her.

“It took you and Dad to save us.”

That obviously bothered her. Casey had never believed in sugar-coating things, but he found he wanted to this time. He watched her, saw the shadows in her eyes, so he picked his words carefully. “You kept him talking until we got there,” he told Riah. “By the time we got back to you, he could have taken the both of you or killed you.”

“He was going to,” she whispered, and he could hear pain there.

“He didn’t,” Casey reminded her. It sounded inadequate even to him, but he still hadn’t heard from her what had happened after he left her and Victoria. Part of him wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Victoria made another happy noise, so Casey decided this wasn’t the time to ask.

Riah stole his pillow, stacked it on top of hers and rolled onto her back before she drew her knees up and lifted Victoria, positioned her so that she sat reclined against her mother’s raised thighs. Casey moved closer, caught the tiny hand closest to him.

His daughter’s hand was only slightly larger than the pad of his thumb. He’d always been uncomfortable around tiny, delicate things, but Victoria was an exception. He hadn’t held many babies in his life, nor had he wanted to, but he liked the soft warmth of his daughter in his arms. Not that Casey would admit that, he thought, as Riah took Victoria’s other hand. She curled their daughter’s tiny fingers over her forefinger and bounced the hand.

“It isn’t over, is it?”

Casey studied Riah’s profile. “No.”

“Have you and my father decided whether we get to go home or whether Victoria and I will be incarcerated somewhere else?”

Her question was softly spoken, but there was a definitely angry edge to it. A similar edge was in his voice when he answered her: “Your mother’s offer sounding better?”

Riah turned her head toward him. “Unless there’s a good reason not to, I want to go home.”

Because it was what he wanted as well, Casey told her so, but he added, “It won’t exactly be my call, Riah.” V. H. and General Beckman, he knew would make that particular decision.

Her sigh was sharp. She turned her attention back to Victoria for several moments. “I get to keep her with me, though, right?”

Shock had him moving so that he could see her averted face more clearly. Riah really appeared to believe that someone might decide to take their daughter from her—and not just the bad guys. “Riah?”

Before Casey could say more than her name, the words came. “She’s not going somewhere else just to protect her, and she’s certainly not getting Chuck’s reserved bunker.” Riah’s stony face reinforced her words.

Casey nearly told her that wouldn’t happen, but he killed the words. It could, he knew. He’d be away on an assignment, and he’d come home to find one or both of them gone.

“I spent my life being left behind, John, waiting for my parents to remember they had a child. I was perfectly happy to quit working so that doesn’t happen to Victoria.” Riah turned to look at him once more. “My father tried, I’ll give him credit for that, and it’s probably the reason I always felt closer to him than Mum, but I refuse to be separated from my daughter.”

A part of him wanted to know if she thought it was okay for Victoria to be separated from him. Casey was smart enough not to say it.

“Mum never really had the maternal instinct,” Riah continued, taking one of Victoria’s socked feet. “She’s a narcissist. I can’t really blame her for that. She’s spent much of her life with people who gave her anything she wanted because of who she is and what she could give them, who tempted her with things she didn’t know she wanted, and who stroked her ego. Children can’t compete with that.”

There was no bitterness there, though Casey wondered why not. It appeared Riah had every reason to resent her mother’s failings as a parent.

“She sailed into my life now and then, generally picked at me—probably in a misguided attempt to improve or fix me—and then sailed right back out again.” Riah rolled her head slightly and met his eyes. “I used to feel like I was an item on a checklist, just another task to see to. Then she had Emma.”

Casey slid an arm around her, pulled her into him. “She took time off while Emma was a baby,” Riah told him. “She probably did when I was born, too. She still recorded, occasionally did a small show in the Chicago area, but mostly she stayed home with Em.”

It wasn’t hard to hear how much that still hurt. Casey wondered that it hadn’t poisoned Riah’s relationship with her half-sister. “Then I realized her new-found maternal instincts were actually about her relationship with Ben.” She gave a wry, sad smile at what must be Casey’s obvious confusion. “Whether she wants to admit it or not, she really does love Ben, so she wanted to prove she could be a good mother the second time around. In the end, though, she couldn’t give up whatever the crowds feed in her.” Riah ran a finger down Victoria’s cheek. “One of the reasons Emma and I get along so well is because we both recognize neither of us will ever be her first priority, that she’ll always drop in and out of our lives when she finally makes time for us.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t hear self-pity there, even if Casey thought she deserved to feel that. It also surprised him that she seemed to see something other than the selfishness he saw when he looked at Ariel.

“She’s not a bad person, John,” Riah told him softly, accurately reading his thoughts. “She loves me—Emma, too—in her own way. She’s just not the kind of mother who sacrifices her ambitions for her children.” She shifted Victoria a little in her lap. “She comes by it honestly, though.” She smiled at Victoria. “Her mother was always up in her studio or out with her paints. My grandmother worked constantly and often forgot she even had family waiting for her. It made her famous and more wealthy than she already was, but it meant my mother spent most of her time with women hired to take care of her rather than with her own mother. Her father worked equally hard, was often gone as well.” Riah sighed. “I suspect she’s sees little wrong in how she raised Emma and me.”

Casey didn’t want to feel sorry for Ariel, but he did. He heard something in Riah’s words he suspected she might not have ever consciously understood—her mother had been abandoned just as she had abandoned her own children, but he found it interesting that Riah clung to family in a way Ariel didn’t. Perhaps she understood what her mother had missed, continued to miss: that people who loved you were far more important than people who loved what you were.

He pressed a kiss on Riah’s cheek. “Is this your way of saying cut her some slack?”

“No,” she said and turned to press a kiss on his mouth. “It’s my way of explaining what I don’t want to be. I don’t want to miss a moment of Victoria’s life, and I don’t want to leave someone else to raise her. I don’t want her to wonder why other things and other people matter more than she does.”

The guilt crushed. He should be used to that sensation. He’d let a lot of people down in his life, and he knew it. Like Ariel, he’d packed up and headed out, often when people he cared deeply about needed him as much as his government did. “Riah—“

She stopped him with her mouth. “That wasn’t meant to be critical of you, John. You’ve proven you’ll be here when we need you and when you can, not just when you have a whim to see your family.”

Her confidence in him made his guilt stronger. Casey tried, but he knew he’d let her down more than once. Her faith in him made him uncomfortable, but then he realized Riah had never made demands on him he couldn’t fulfill. She’d never drawn a line that would force him to choose between her or his career. He was certain that was because she didn’t want to be disappointed, didn’t want to know that once more she might prove to be less important.

“Sometimes, Riah,” Casey said as he leaned closer to her, “you should really expect more from the people you love.” Her breath hitched a little when he kissed her, and one of her hands came up to shape to his cheek as her lips parted under his.

Emma’s startled, “Oh!” didn’t make him immediately stop the kiss. When he did, Casey looked over to where she stood in the doorway, noted her blush, and nearly pointed out she seemed to have an instinct for interrupting them when things were just beginning to get interesting. There was something more than embarrassment in Emma’s expression, though. “V. H. is looking for Casey.”

He dropped another kiss on Riah’s mouth before he rolled over and got off the bed.

“He’s in the library,” Emma said as he walked toward her.

“Knock next time,” Casey told her with a grin.

“I did,” she shot back with her own grin. “Not my fault all those guns have made you deaf.”

“Not guns,” he grunted, “your sister.”

“Gross!” Emma called after him.

As he turned toward the stairs in the hall, Casey echoed what Riah had told Julie the year before by calling, “Not gross at all.”

The library was below the master suite. It was a large room lined with bookcases anchored on one end with a large stone fireplace. Where there weren’t bookcases, there was a lot of glass providing a good view of the snow and the woods beyond. There was a desk tucked in one corner and several comfortable chairs and sofas positioned in the main space. V. H. was at the desk, but he stood, walked forward, and gestured at a couple of club chairs near the fireplace. “I assume you were hiding out with my daughter somewhere.”

Casey snorted. “Pre-emptive strike so she doesn’t attack me again.” It wasn’t true, but it beat having to hear her father’s interpretation.

“I’ll ignore that,” V. H. said with a smile. “Does she still want to leave as soon as possible?”

“We haven’t talked about it since last night,” Casey admitted. “She’s settled a bit, but she still won’t go back in our room.”

“If you can convince her to hang tight a little while longer, I’d appreciate it,” the other man told him. “Finley isn’t talking, but a couple of his men are. The Ring is watching for her to leave—or for us to—and I think, especially given the weather, staying put is the best option for the moment.”

Casey thought, weighed the options, and concluded V. H. was right. “Do you want to try and get MacKenzie, Emma, and Ariel out?”

“I considered that,” V. H. admitted, “but it might embolden them with fewer people in the house, so I’d rather risk leaving them here—especially since the roads are dangerous enough without terrorists lying in wait.”

“And they would make nice bargaining chips for blackmail if they were taken,” Casey added. That would kill Riah, he knew.

The other man nodded. “My daughter would insist on making the trade, too, especially if they had Emma.” Riah’s father sighed. “Curtiss and the other operatives are still on alert, and the RNC has agreed to patrol a little more often.” V. H. snorted. “I even have eyes on the water, but it might not be enough if they decide to make a move.”

Casey would like resources of his own, but he wasn’t going to get them. Beckman wasn’t about to put operatives on an asset that didn’t belong to them, not even if the General feared Riah might crack and give up Bartowski. He ran a hand through his hair and thought hard. He didn’t know the area, had only seen it in the dark, so he’d have to trust V. H. That didn’t stop him from making the man go through his plans and contingency plans for him. It also didn’t stop him from insisting on a tour of the grounds.

As he left the library to find warmer clothes and his boots, Casey heard raised voices in the living room. As he stalked toward it, he realized one was Riah’s. When he reached the living room, Riah was practically toe-to-toe with her mother near the Christmas tree. “It’s my house, Mother,” she ground out, “so I get to make the decisions.”

“We always take the tree down the day after Christmas,” Ariel snapped.

“No,” Riah said firmly, “you do, mainly because you’re about to leave. This is my house, and it’s staying where it is.”

Casey wondered if his wife had decided to stay awhile or if she was arguing simply to assert some authority. He crossed his arms and settled in to watch the show, ready to step in on Riah’s side if needed.

“We won’t be staying,” Ariel told her. “Last night made it clear it isn’t safe, so it makes sense to take it down.”

“It’s not your decision to make, Mum,” Riah reminded her.

“It’s not going to be yours, either,” her mother assured her. “I’m sure your father and your husband are both plotting the escape right now.”

“Actually,” Casey cut in, “we’re staying.” Riah turned to look at him, her face pale. In that moment, he realized he should have explained privately. “Weather’s too bad right now,” he added, gesturing at the glass behind the tree, “and it’s safer to stay in a defensible position until we’re sure any of Finley’s allies we might have missed are rounded up or gone.”

Ariel drew herself up and planted her fists on her hips, so he was certain round two was about to get underway. He wasn’t going to roll over and play dead, and if Ariel really wanted to do this in front of her daughter, he was going to defend himself. He’d try, for Riah’s sake, not to go for the jugular, but Casey wasn’t going to take a beating he didn’t deserve.

“I have somewhere I have to be,” she ground out, “so I’ll be leaving no later than tomorrow.”

“That’s not going to be up to you,” Casey said.

“The hell it isn’t,” Ariel returned. “You have no jurisdiction here, Casey, and you sure as hell can’t tell me what I can do.”

“You’re right,” he said with a shrug, “but if you leave before it’s safe and something happens to you, your daughter is going to spend the rest of her life blaming herself for that. I’m not letting that happen.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” Ariel scoffed. “I’m not the one they want. _You’re_ the one who caused this.”

He nearly turned to see if V. H. had followed him so he could demand the other man explain. Instead, he met Riah’s pained expression. “Let’s be clear, Ariel. You inadvertently set in motion what Finley and his men were here for—Riah and Victoria. They’re after what’s in Riah’s head, what you let ISI put in her head, and because she was never quite able to do what they want, they think they can make Victoria into the kind of tool ISI tried to make her mother into.”

It was entirely possible V. H. would shoot him for saying even that much, but it was clear Ariel didn’t believe a word of it. “Please,” she sneered. “You can’t blame my daughter for your own shortcomings.”

“No,” Casey conceded, “and I don’t blame her for yours, but if you leave before it’s safe, chances are you’ll be the one they use to get Riah and Victoria. You’ll never make it to wherever you think it’s more important to be than spending time with your own daughters.”

An angry flush spread over Ariel’s face. Casey felt Riah’s hand on his arm. “Enough, John,” she said quietly and turned to Ariel. “You, too, Mum. No one’s going anywhere until it’s safe to do so.” Riah raised a brow at her mother. “If you refuse to listen to sense, Mum, that’s your choice, but you’ll go alone. I’ll see Emma gets safely home, Ben, too, unless he chooses to go with you.”

Casey wrapped an arm around Riah. When it looked as though Ariel would protest, she gave her mother a hard glare. “No more, Mum. Not another word, or I’ll have Dad get his men to find a way to escort you to St. John’s.”

He half expected Ariel to take her up on that, but instead, his mother-in-law threw up her hands and marched to the stairs and disappeared.

“What is it about her that makes us want to automatically say no?” Riah sighed.

Snorting, Casey pulled her closer, kissed the top of her head. “You just don’t like being told what to do.”

Riah leaned into him, looked up at him, and raised both brows. “And you do?”

As he was about to suggest some things he’d be willing to do if she told him to, V. H. interrupted. “We’ll lose daylight soon, Casey. If you’re coming, get ready.”

Riah’s eyes went wide.

“Your father’s going to show me the grounds, let me see the perimeter defenses.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re staying here.” V. H. had promised an operative would be in the house, but Casey would feel better if Riah was there as well. If something happened, Victoria wouldn’t be alone. Then, he realized his daughter wasn’t in the room.

“Emma’s with her,” Riah said, accurately reading what he had been about to ask. “She’ll stay until I’m back.”

“You’ll stay here,” Casey ordered. Her face went stormy. “I mean it, Riah.” He turned her words against her then. “As you told your father the other night, you’re the last line of defense here.”

She didn’t like it, but Casey hadn’t expected her to. He offered, “I’ll appease you all you want later if you do this for me.”

As he watched, Riah crossed her arms and asked for his phone. Puzzled, he handed it over. She did something and handed it back before she, too, marched upstairs. Casey looked at the screen and knew she wasn’t going to hold the order against him after all—but she was going to use it because the number she’d programmed in was for the Royal Newfoundland Constabulary. He grinned broadly.

“I don’t like the look of that,” V. H. said in mock disgust.

Casey turned the phone around. “I think my wife intends to assault me again.”

V. H. groaned. Casey went to find his coat and boots.

 

By the time they returned, darkness was falling. They shook off the snow and removed their boots in the mudroom. V. H.’s operative nodded and went outside. With the two of them in the house, V. H. had explained as they walked the perimeter of Riah’s property, he had thought it wiser to have his operatives outside so there were more eyes on the approaches. Casey couldn’t fault the logic even if the strategy had failed. There was a guesthouse on the property where the teams were staying, which explained why none of the ISI operatives had been staying in the main house.

Riah worked at the stove when he padded into the kitchen. She looked up as Casey put his arms around her, bent and nuzzled her neck. She jumped, told him, “You’re freezing.”

He kissed her, then grinned and said, “Warm me up.”

“Save it for later,” her father said joining them. V. H. eyed the various pots and pans on the stove. “Is that what I think it is?”

Riah smiled at the other man. “You can have some if you’ll shut up about my husband.”

V. H. left them to it. Casey turned her, slid his arms around her again and gave Riah a slow, persuasive kiss. “Dinner, then I’ll assault you,” she told him.

“I’d prefer it if you seduced me,” Casey told her.

“We’ll see,” Riah told him neutrally and turned back to stir the cream sauce. She slid him a suggestive look, though.

“Your mother still looking for my head?” he asked.

Her body sagged slightly. “I don’t know,” she told him, “but we talked, and she’s promised to behave.”

Casey doubted that would last long, but he told Riah, “I’ll behave, too.”

“Well,” she said, stirring the pasta, “you I can punish if you don’t, but I think I might understand that there are extenuating circumstances if you fail your mission.” She put down the spoon and turned in his arms again, ran her hands up his chest. “As I told Mum, when the two of you argue, I feel it physically. It’s like I’m going to have a heart attack. That’s what it’s like when she and Dad argue, too, and I’m tired of always feeling like I’m caught between two trains colliding full-speed.” Riah pulled him down and kissed away the sting of that. “Just try, John. That’s all I ask.”

“Try, I can do,” he assured her.

Then he frowned at her when she grinned and did a Bartowski by quoting _Star Wars_ , “’Try not. Do, or do not. There is no try.’”

Casey pulled her closer, grinned against her hair. “Nerds!”

“Mixing your movies, there, John,” she said cheerfully. “Dinner will be ready in about five minutes, so, ‘Round up the usual suspects.’”

Over dinner, Ariel was on her best behavior, and so was he. Casey wondered just how bluntly his wife had told her mother how their arguments made her react because Ariel occasionally gave her daughter a concerned look. Riah served Fettuccine Alfredo, with homemade fettuccine, steamed broccoli, homemade Italian bread with garlic, and a field green salad. There was chocolate cake for dessert. A couple of bottles from what was surely Ariel’s wine collection found their way to the table, too, though Riah stuck to milk.

He and Emma did dishes while Riah fed Victoria. The others had left the four of them in the kitchen. Emma gave Casey a sidelong look as she took a clean plate from him. “So what did my sister threaten you with to get you to behave?”

Casey grinned. “Sex.”

Emma laughed, but Riah hissed his name. He didn’t look at her; instead, he returned Emma’s grin and handed her another plate. She apparently decided to ignore her sister, too. “Would that be withholding it or forcing you to submit to her demands?”

This time it was Emma’s name Riah hissed. “She wasn’t clear on that,” Casey admitted as he washed another plate. “It could go either way.”

“It could go neither way,” Riah said tartly.

“That’s a definite withholding,” Emma laughed.

“Is there any part of the universe where no one will discuss my sex life?” Riah demanded.

“Not if any of our family are present,” Emma returned easily.

“Or mine,” Casey conceded.

“That’s just Julie,” Riah corrected.

He snorted, nodded, handed Emma another plate, and started on the next one. “Or Jan.”

This time Riah snorted. “Did you call them?”

Casey nodded again. “Everyone’s fine. They miss us. Mother wants pictures of Victoria.” He shrugged. “The usual.”

“Next year,” Riah said, “we should go there for Christmas.”

“You mean provided maniacs aren’t trying to snatch you,” Emma observed as she wiped a plate dry.

“Or trying to kill John,” his wife said. Casey turned to see a grin on her face. “Lots more people go after him than generally go after me.”

It was true enough, he supposed, though the truth was it would all depend on how safe Bartowski was—unless the kid got killed between now and then or Casey’s assignment changed.

By general agreement, everyone had an early night. After Emma helped him move Victoria’s crib and after the baby was settled in it, Casey had a moment where he reconsidered his plans for the next few hours. He watched his daughter sleep, realized she had a clear line of sight to the bed where he and his wife would sleep, and decided the last thing she needed to see was her parents having sex—whether she understood what was going on or not. When he explained to Riah, she stood, rummaged in the closet, and hung one of the quilts he’d padded the drawer in which Victoria had slept the night before over the rail of the crib.

“She’ll still hear,” he said as Riah pulled her nightgown over her head and crawled back on the bed.

“Not as long as you don’t make any noise.” She straddled his thighs.

“I’m not the only one who’s noisy.”

“I’ll have to be quiet, too,” Riah whispered as she leaned in and kissed him. She lifted her mouth a mere fraction of an inch and added, “That didn’t stop you last night.”

“Get me naked,” Casey ordered before he caught her mouth.

Riah pushed him back on the pillows and nibbled her way down his body with an excruciating slowness. Casey wrapped her braid around his wrist to keep her from continuing too far south. When she had him naked, just as he was about to pull her back up his body, he discovered Riah had other ideas.

Not that he minded, he reflected as she moved, pushed his legs apart and then did things with her mouth that tested his ability to be quiet. Riah licked, she sucked, and he really liked that, though when she stopped, Casey started to protest before her mouth went lower, sucked one his balls in while her hand trailed up his thigh to press just behind them. She released him, sucked the other in, while her finger stroked a spot that made his eyes cross behind his closed lids. Then she returned to point, so to speak.

Casey used her braid to stop her when he was on the edge and about to tumble over, tugged it when her tongue didn’t stop. Riah got the message, began moving up his body again. He sat up, though, got on his knees, and kissed the breath out of her before he turned her around and pulled her back into him. It was risky to take her from behind, particularly so close to her rude reminder of Edmonton, but Casey liked the way Riah lost absolute control when he did. He wanted to make her lose control, so he positioned her against him, and slid inside her, his mouth on her nape.

“Do you have any idea how good you feel?” he moaned softly and moved a hand up from her hip to her breast.

“Not nearly as good as you do,” she gasped.

He snorted, squeezed the breast he held, and asked, “How good?” before he thrust.

Riah’s answer was completely incoherent, but Casey knew exactly what she meant, especially when she rose and settled back on him, started to ride toward nirvana.

There was a moment when he thought he’d made a mistake, when he thought she was going to be disappointed, but then her body seized, so he took over, pushed her over the edge and fell with her.

Casey held her where she was, both of them breathing hard. He thought his legs had probably gone to sleep, but he didn’t mind the tiny stabs of pain mingled with numbness. He kissed her shoulder, stroked a hand down her body, and wondered how he had managed to be such a lucky bastard for once.

“Can’t move,” Riah moaned. Casey chuckled against her throat.

“Not sure I can, either.”

Then they both froze when Victoria made a kind of grunting noise.

Riah giggled, looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes dancing. Casey caught her mouth with his. No other sounds came from their daughter, so he kissed along his wife’s jawline to the spot below her ear. Her breath was shaky when she drew it. Riah’s body tensed. “Go again,” she mumbled.

“Need a little help,” Casey told her as he kissed toward her shoulder, “or at least a little recovery time.”

Her hands reached back, found his hips, and stroked. His hands rose and glided over her breasts. One of them leaked a bit, and he asked, “What does it feel like when you feed her?”

Riah looked back at him. He’d never really asked, but he wanted to know. “Nothing like what it feels like when you suck on them,” she assured him. Casey watched a thoughtful expression crease her brow. “It just pulls at me when she nurses.” She smiled. “At the risk of feeding your overactive ego, my body goes up in flames when you do.”

He grinned and looked over her shoulder, traced a finger over a tight nipple. “How long do you have to nurse her?”

“They recommend a year,” she told him, then covered the hand stroking her breast with hers, “but in several months, she’ll begin transitioning to solids.”

Casey eased her off him, laid her on the mattress, and stretched out over her. “As soon as I transition to solid, we’ll go again.”

Riah laughed softly and lifted her body so she rubbed against him. “I think you promised to appease me.”

“I think you still owe me something I taught you,” Casey returned with a grin, “and that was definitely not something I taught you.” He cocked his head, narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been reading that sex book of your aunt’s again, haven’t you?”

Her smile was unrepentant, so was her body when it rubbed against his. “You like the breadth of my education.”

“There are many things I like about you,” Casey assured her and bent his head to nibble on her shoulder. “Right now, your education is considerably further down the list than you might think.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm,” he said. “I like these.” He kissed her lips. “I like these,” he said and kissed her breasts. “I like this especially,” he said as he ran a hand down her stomach and through the curls where her thighs joined. He slid a finger down, parted her, and stroked before he slipped it inside her.

“Go on,” she breathed.

Casey removed his finger and his hand then rolled off her to lie on his back beside her. “I think your education is probably next on the list.”

Riah kicked his ankle. “Bastard.”

“Your vocabulary, however, leaves a little to be desired.”

The mattress shifted. He watched her sit up, reach for her gown. Casey reached a hand out and ran a finger down her spine before he traced her bottom. “This is another thing I like,” he told her, slid his fingers underneath one cheek and squeezed, “makes a good place to hang on, though there are times I’m sorely tempted to blister it for you.”

His wife looked over her shoulder at him, arched a brow.

“Drop the gown, or I might.”

He noticed Riah kept it in her hand, but she lay back, turned to face him. “Threatening violence probably isn’t the best way to get what you want.”

“You might be surprised.” Casey took the gown from her and tossed it toward the foot of the bed. “Right now, though, I think we can find something we’d both like.”

“I’m listening.”

Snorting, he ran a hand down her body again. “What would _you_ like, Mrs. Casey?” he whispered.

“You.” Riah stroked down his arm, moved his hand from her hip to where it had been before, so he stroked the wet heat of her. Her breath hitched and her body arched. He bit the taut cord of her throat gently, licked and then kissed. Her hand found him, fondled, and Riah murmured, “You’re nearly back to solid.”

He snorted and took appeasing Riah very seriously.

 

Victoria woke them somewhere near dawn. It occurred to Casey that their daughter had nearly slept through an entire night despite the noise her parents had occasionally made. He watched Riah get her, bring her back to their bed, and then he protested when his wife yanked his pillow out from under his head to lay Victoria on it as she rolled on her side so their daughter could reach.

He watched in the dim light reflecting off the snow outside, his head propped on one hand and stroked his daughter’s downy head with his other hand. When she’d been born, she’d had a mass of dark hair, but she’d lost it and now had a lot of fine, white hair. She looked completely bald until he looked closer. Casey liked the feel of her soft scalp beneath that downy blonde hair, and he wondered if she would ultimately be blonde like her mother or darker haired like him. Victoria’s eyes had remained blue, but that hardly surprised him.

A slight snore escaped Riah. Casey grinned, realized she had simply gone back to sleep while Victoria fed. After a while, he woke her. Riah gave him his pillow back, propped Victoria’s head on her arm to let their daughter finish feeding. Casey was amused that his wife immediately went back to sleep. He found his pajama bottoms stuck between the sheets at the foot of the bed and struggled into them, saw to his daughter when she’d finished nursing, and when he had her changed and back in her crib asleep, he returned to his wife, settled in, and hoped they’d have a quiet day.

 

It got off to a quiet start, at least. Ariel remained on good behavior, and so did Casey. After lunch, though, Riah found him and told him she needed to get out of the house. He protested, but she remained insistent. Casey finally gave in, and after she got Emma to agree to keep an eye on Victoria while he told V. H. he was taking Riah for a walk, they pulled on coats and boots and left the house.

She knew where she was going, apparently, because Riah simply took off across the virgin snow. Casey followed, caught up with her. When he was certain they were far enough from the house not to be seen and far enough from where ISI’s operatives patrolled the grounds, Casey flung her in a snow drift and followed her down.

Riah laughed. It occurred to Casey that this was the most carefree he’d seen her in a long time. When he kissed her, she kissed back. “We could make all the noise we wanted here,” she told him with a raised brow and a grin.

“Too damn cold to follow through.”

“Who said naked had to be part of the equation?” she asked softly and burrowed her hands inside his coat.

Just as Casey was about to suggest the stand of trees nearby, he heard a distinctive sound followed by a terse, “Don’t move.”

Until he turned around, Casey figured some eager ISI operative thought he was about to get lucky and catch someone after Riah. Since Casey was after Riah—but not in the way the operative likely believed—he prepared an explanation and a warning to stay the hell away unless there was a real threat.

Then Casey looked over his shoulder at the man and knew letting Riah talk him into this was probably going to get them both killed.


	37. Chapter 37

It was habit to learn everything he could about any target he was given, so despite never actually having laid eyes on the man holding a gun on him and Riah, Casey knew exactly who the man behind him was. The man had been a known associate rather than an actual target, though, so Casey knew the name and face, his affiliations, but very little more. The cliché in this situation would be to name him, but Casey doubted that name would mean anything to Riah, so the move was pointless—though he could make the play they often did in those godawful spy movies where the good guy let the bad guy talk until the cavalry arrived.

Instead, he decided on a more productive route. He met Riah’s eyes, saw that despite her fear she was holding it together, and raised a brow, hoped she remembered her father had insisted she wear an operative emergency beacon before letting her leave the house. Casey gave a slight nod when she took her arm from him, stroked a hand over her shoulder to the logo on her heavy parka and pressed slightly on the raised design.

He was more troubled by the fact her other hand burrowed further under his own coat to the gun in its holster at the small of his back.

“Show both hands, Adderly,” the man ordered.

Riah removed her hand, left the gun in its holster.

“Roll off her and on your back, Colonel.”

Casey did so slowly, calculated whether or not he could draw the SIG under his left arm before the man shot him, but decided the risk was too great with Riah there.

“Hands behind your heads—both of you.”

“Do I know you?” Riah asked as they complied.

God, Casey hoped not. If she knew him, there was more to this than he thought.

“We’ve never actually met,” the man told her.

Casey noticed he didn’t introduce himself, either.

Matthew Kincaid had once worked for ISI. These days, he free-lanced. Casey hated private spies who had no loyalty to anyone but themselves and, technically, to whomever paid them. He could admire the enemy who was true to his country, who served his homeland and the ideology he’d been raised with—no matter how wrongheaded it might be—but the men and women who were only in it for the paycheck were beneath contempt.

Kincaid mostly watched Casey, who saw an advantage in that. It meant the other man thought Casey was the greater threat, and that meant Riah might be able to exploit the situation, even if it was only to make a run for it.

Even as he thought it, he knew Riah wouldn’t run. That meant buying a little time to consider options that kept her safe.

“So who’s paying your bill this time?” Casey asked. The man had come to his attention on a case he worked before Bartowski. At that time, Kincaid had been the occasional partner of a rogue CIA agent Casey had to put down before she finished selling secrets that weren’t hers to sell to the Chinese.

His question made Kincaid grin. “Not your concern, Colonel.”

“The better question, John,” Riah said quietly, “is likely what he’s being paid to do.”

Casey lifted a brow, cocked his head in the snow, and gave as much of a shrug as he could manage in the position he was in. She had a point, but Casey was pretty sure he already knew what Kincaid was being paid for.

Like bad guys everywhere, now that he thought he’d won, Kincaid got chatty, which disappointed Casey. They were going to play out the spy movie scenario after all. He hoped Adderly arrived with reinforcements a little sooner than the movie agents generally did.

“Well, you, Adderly.” Kincaid flashed a grin. “The bonus is that I get to kill Colonel Casey.”

“Casey,” Riah ground out. It took Casey a moment to realize she protested being called by her maiden name rather than spoke to him. Casey bit back a smile.

Kincaid, though, was apparently as stupid as he looked since the man frowned. “That’s what I said.”

“No,” she corrected. “It isn’t Adderly—it’s Casey.”

Casey imagined her rolling her eyes when Kincaid’s frown deepened before the moron replied, “No, I’m pretty sure it’s Colonel John Casey.”

She let out a frustrated growl and gave up. Casey realized the man’s ignorance might prove to be leverage—if it was genuine ignorance and not prevarication. “Her father has men crawling all over this place,” he told Kincaid.

“And nearly every one of them is sleeping it off—if they aren’t dead.”

He heard Riah’s shocked, choked breath. That meant the cavalry might not come, so Casey sized up the man, considered options, and wondered if he could manage a chance for Riah to get away and get to her father. Assuming Kincaid was a lone idiot and not part of a team this time, the odds were better they might get out of this alive without the two ISI teams. “V. H. Adderly will see to it you’re dead before you get to the property line.”

“At this moment, V. H. is on the phone with the Prime Minister.” Kincaid grinned. “When that call is over, he’ll be on his way to St. John’s—no passing Go, no collecting two hundred dollars, no looking for the daughter he usually forgets exists to say goodbye.”

Which showed how little this particular imbecile really knew V. H., Casey decided. The man would at the very least tell Riah he had to leave, and he’d sure as hell check with Curtiss to give him orders. V. H. wouldn’t leave if he didn’t know Riah was safe, no matter what his masters told him to do.

“What happened?” Riah asked.

Kincaid flashed a self-satisfied smile. “Small national emergency in an African nation most westerners have never heard of,” he said cheerfully. “Thirty-two Canadian nationals, some of whom clandestinely work for the Canadian government, are hostages of local guerillas.”

Whoever Kincaid’s allies were had arranged that, Casey knew, which put his money on the Ring.

“You know, Adderly—“

Riah again ground out, “Casey,” but the man ignored her.

“—the last time I was paid for you, you should have died.” He looked at Casey, raised his brows. “Thanks to the Colonel here, I had to refund the fee.”

Casey looked at Riah to see if she knew because he couldn’t think of an assassination attempt he had thwarted where she was concerned. She was as pale as the snow beneath her, but he was pretty sure that had nothing to do with the cold. From her expression, he was certain she understood whatever Kincaid referenced while he still tried to fit the pieces together. The only attempt Kincaid might have played a role in that Casey could recall was at the Institute. He assumed Mick Faraday was still safely doing time for that one, though, so he wondered what else Kincaid meant. It was always possible, he supposed, that Kincaid had subcontracted the work there since he would likely have had difficulty getting on the training ground that day.

“The good news for you is,” Kincaid sailed on, “they want you alive this time. Of course, the people paying aren’t the same people who footed the bill the last time.”

 _Like that mattered_ , Casey thought. Kincaid’s new bosses weren’t going to get what they paid for.

The man turned his attention to Casey then. “The bonus is the bounty on Colonel Casey’s head.”

It wasn’t the first time the bad guys had offered a cash incentive to get rid of him, and Casey simply considered it proof he was damned good at what he did. This time, though, if Kincaid killed him, the man got Riah, and if he got Riah, he likely got Victoria as well. He was certain Kincaid was here to finish what Finley had attempted but had failed to do.

“Many have tried.” Casey gave another shrug that sent snow down his collar. He calculated how to distract the man and then disarm him, preferably without harm to Riah or to himself.

“Many weren’t me,” Kincaid returned smugly.

Casey wondered why the moron didn’t just pull the trigger. If he was smart, he’d simply shoot Casey and drag Riah off. The man had to know that the longer he drew this out, the more likely it was help would come. Then Kincaid would be the one someone put a bullet in. Bad guys, Casey reflected, were really terrible at what they did often enough to make his own job that much easier.

Riah drew Kincaid’s attention, then. “If you’re going to kill John,” she said softly, “then do you mind telling me why? For that matter, I’d like to know why you’re here for me.”

He noticed Riah didn’t say they were married, didn’t make their connection clear for the idiot with the gun.

Kincaid eyed her. Casey tensed, waited to see if the other man would realize his mistake in taking his attention from him. “Montreal Project.”

“I’m a failed experiment.” Her words kept Kincaid focused on her, so Casey eased his right hand out from behind his head, left it on the snow above his shoulder while he watched Kincaid closely.

“According to reports, you function—not well,” he conceded, “but you function enough for the people paying me to want to take a closer look at how.”

“Were you part of the original project?”

Casey took note that she didn’t claim not to know what he was talking about, nor did she deny having been a participant of sorts.

Kincaid grinned. “Why would I have been?”

To his surprise, and Kincaid’s, too, judging from the other man’s expression, Riah began reeling off a stream of details about the former operative, from his birthplace, to his schools, to his scores at the Institute, to the positions he’d held at ISI, all the way up to his dismissal for repeated insubordination and dereliction of duty. Casey didn’t remain frozen as the other man did. He was on his feet and had Kincaid disarmed and unconscious before he could even think to ask Riah how she knew that or react.

After making sure the man wasn’t getting up or going anywhere any time soon, Casey reached down and helped Riah to her feet. She flung her arms around him, held on tightly. “I don’t know how I knew that,” she told him breathlessly.

Casey was more worried about the fact that she’d just performed the way she was probably supposed to—like Chuck—and the bits about Kincaid’s record were considerably more recent than twenty-five years ago. He wasn’t going to say a word about that, though. He wondered if V. H. knew, but if he didn’t Casey wasn’t giving him any reason to separate them further.

It also meant he needed to find a way to see if the senior Bartowski could get that out of Riah’s head. This would only stop when she couldn’t do what she’d just done—or so Casey hoped.

He fished out his phone and tried V. H., but the line was busy. The house’s landline went unanswered when he tried it. Casey wondered if Kincaid had cut it or if something else was wrong. He tried Emma next. Riah had retrieved Kincaid’s gun and kept an eye on the man while Casey wondered why in hell no one had answered Riah’s beacon when she activated it.

“Get V. H.,” Casey told his sister-in-law when she answered.

“Why?”

 _Did women never just do as they were told?_ he wondered. _Did they always have to ask why?_ “Emma, just do it.”

Riah looked up at that, a little frown drew her brows together. He leaned in and kissed her while he waited.

“He’s busy,” Emma told him a few moments later.

“Interrupt him.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s connected to what he’s on the phone about,” Casey told her and tried not to do so in a way that would end Emma’s cooperation.

“Mariah’s okay?”

He sighed. “Fine, right here, and you can talk to her after I talk to V. H.”

While he waited, listened to Emma try and get V. H. to talk to him, Casey watched Kincaid, looked for any sign the man might be about to regain consciousness.

“This better be worth putting the Prime Minister on hold,” his father-in-law bit out.

“Someone staged an incident in Africa to distract you long enough to take Riah.”

If he’d expected an explosion from V. H., Casey would have been disappointed. The hissed, “Where is she?” was all he got.

“Right here,” Casey told him, “and she’s perfectly fine, but Matthew Kincaid is down and out, and he says your two teams are, too.”

“Get her here, now,” V. H. ordered.

“I don’t have anything to secure Kincaid with.”

“Kill him.”

Casey would love to, but he knew better. “We need to find out what he knows.”

“Drag him back, then.”

He stared at his phone. Under other circumstances, Casey would be pissed the man had hung up on him, but V. H. had a boss on another phone who needed him and they had said what needed saying.

Eyeing the still unconscious Kincaid, Casey considered options. He handed Riah the backup from his belt holster so Kincaid couldn’t get it if he came to, and then he bent and pulled the man up in a fireman’s lift. “Behind me,” he ordered Riah, “and if he even looks like he’s going to twitch, club the hell out of him with his gun.”

They returned to the house the way they had come, which made walking through the deep snow with another man’s weight a hell of a lot easier for Casey. Emma was, thankfully, watching for them and opened the door when they got there. Casey walked to the kitchen. When he reached the stairs, he told Riah to get his cuffs while he headed downstairs to the wine cellar. He stopped outside the safe room and waited for his wife. When Riah arrived, he asked her to open it. She punched in a code and then stepped back.

Inside and against the back wall were a couple of bunk beds, metal and built in. He dumped Kincaid in the lower bunk of one and cuffed him to the bedframe. He started to leave, but then he went back and took the man’s shoes. Casey doubted Kincaid would want to cross the snow barefoot, so at best it might simply slow an escape down. Then he went through the other man’s pockets for anything he might be able to pick the cuff locks with. Casey raided the small fridge for a bottle of water he set near enough Kincaid could reach, and then he ushered Riah out and had her shut the man in.

As he watched, she changed the code, which Casey considered a smart move. For all he knew, there were several people who knew that code, so if Kincaid had had friends on her security details, they might have known it and could aid his escape.

Riah shook when she wrapped her arms around him. Casey held her close. They were leaving as soon as it could be safely arranged. He wasn’t waiting for the next time, because this time it might be with overwhelming numbers—which wouldn’t take much as long as the ISI teams were down. “Go pack.”

In the gloom Riah studied his face. “Is it safe to leave?”

“I’ll make it safe,” he promised. “I won’t risk you or Victoria, and staying clearly will.”

Emma was still in the kitchen. When asked, she told her sister Victoria was down for a nap. She and Riah headed upstairs while Casey called Beckman.

After he quickly explained the situation, making sure he left out Riah’s surprising retrieval of data on Kincaid, Casey waited. “I’ll speak to Adderly,” Beckman finally said. “I’m aware of the situation in Cimarron,” she added, “and we’re providing support to that operation. We’ll offer assistance getting your family out of Newfoundland, Colonel, but you’ll have to be responsible for their security.”

In other words, they’d get help leaving, but they were on their own once they did. It was the best he was going to get, so he took it.

As he went to find V. H., Casey considered options. Going back to Echo Park would be predictable, and that endangered Bartowski further. If he took his wife and daughter to his mother’s, that endangered his larger family. He supposed Riah could take Victoria to Ottawa for a while, but Casey knew she would refuse to go. She hadn’t been happy about their separation before, and she’d be even less happy if it was extended. Perhaps she should go with Ariel.

For a brief moment he enjoyed the idea of Ariel at the hands of Ring operatives. Then Casey realized that all the bodyguards in the world wouldn’t keep his wife and daughter safe—not to mention Ariel might inadvertently hire people who represented those after his family.

The best thing all around was probably to take them home with him if Riah couldn’t be persuaded to go to Ottawa.

V. H. was off the phone when Casey found him in the library. “I’ve got more operatives on the way from St. John’s,” his father-in-law said as he crossed the room. “Let’s go take a look at the damage.”

As they headed for the door, Riah intercepted them. “I’m going with you.”

Her father recognized the determined look on her face just as Casey did. “Honey, someone needs to stay with your daughter and the rest of the family.”

“Dad, you and John may need me, especially if all your operatives really are incapacitated.”

It was true that another trained set of eyes and another capable shot might come in handy, but since Riah and Victoria were both apparently targets, it made more sense to leave her to guard the house since there was no one else. Casey really didn’t want to be the one to tell her that, though.

She could apparently read expressions, too. “I’m going. The house has an alarm system, and Emma’s promised they won’t answer the door or phone while we’re gone.”

“Mariah—“ her father began. Since Casey knew how well she could escalate an argument, he decided he’d let her father take her fire, so he remained silent and let the two of them hash it out.

“Non-negotiable, Dad. This happened because of me, so I’m going with you to see the damage.”

Casey imagined that it wasn’t going to be a case of unconscious or otherwise incapacitated operatives. Given Kincaid’s usual operating procedures, it was likely to be dead. On the other hand, Kincaid was one man, and unless he had friends he hadn’t revealed, it probably was incapacitated.

That was the moment Casey knew he couldn’t let her go. If two ISI teams had been incapacitated or killed, he sincerely doubted Kincaid had acted alone. It was possible his partners had abandoned him when Casey took the man down, but it was unlikely—they hadn’t acquired their targets. That left Victoria wide open, and it was entirely probable they were more interested in her than Riah.

“You stay,” Casey told her. The intensity of her anger took him by surprise. “I doubt Kincaid was alone,” he explained before she could start, “so Victoria needs someone here.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Then you stay,” Riah ground out, “let ISI deal with its own.”

He shot V. H. a glare when the other man snorted. “You’re not ISI any more, Riah,” Casey reminded his wife. “You stay here with Victoria.”

“Sure,” she scoffed. “Leave both targets conveniently unprotected while you two go see the damage. Classic distraction.” Riah looked over at her father. “Has anyone bothered to try and call Curtiss to see if Kincaid’s story is even true?”

For his part, Casey had simply accepted on the surface that what Kincaid claimed was true. He hadn’t questioned it, he realized, because he hadn’t thought the other man could slip through the measures Adderly had had his teams set in place any other way. When he turned to V. H., the other man had his phone to his ear.

His wife chose that moment to turn on him. “If it is true, you need me.”

“Victoria needs you more.” He wasn’t sure why she was so insistent on going with him. Casey wasn’t the one wearing the target.

“If he has friends, I won’t let them kill you.”

He’d forgotten Kincaid’s comment about a bounty. Riah stepped back when Casey reached for her. That pissed him off, but before he could say something, V. H. cut in with, “Curtiss answered. He says some of his men are down—tranqs probably—but not all. They’re looking for anyone who might have been with Kincaid.”

“You stay,” Casey ordered his wife.

“I’m not a damned dog, John!”

He rounded on V. H. when the other man laughed. Casey narrowed his eyes; V. H. held his hands up. “Maybe both of you better stay.”

Predictably, Riah protested that. “You’re not going alone.”

There was an edge of exasperation that Casey sympathized with when V. H. responded: “Mariah, you can’t have it both ways.” He gave her that arched brow and hard stare ISI operatives feared. “Casey’s coming with me, and you’re staying here to take care of your mother, your sister, and your daughter.”

Finally, Riah accepted her father wasn’t going to let her out of the house, threw up her hands, and stalked off.

That didn’t stop Casey from waiting until they were a good distance from the house to say, “You’ll be lucky if she doesn’t poison your food.”

“She won’t get the chance,” V. H. said, and Casey could hear residual anger under the cold statement. “As soon as the team from St. John’s gets here, I’m on the road and on a plane. I’m due in Ottawa immediately.”

“It’s that bad?”

Casey listened as V. H. detailed the issue in Cimarron. Guerillas were trying to overthrow the current dictator—not for the first time, and not the first group of guerillas, either—and they’d taken control of a mining operation. ISI wasn’t the only intelligence agency who had planted their own in the mining company, Casey knew, but it appeared Canadians had been targeted over other westerners. Of course, ISI had lent help to the dictator’s enemies before, so it shouldn’t have been surprising they were targeted by guerillas who might not actually be guerillas after all.

Curtiss met them near the guesthouse where the operatives stayed, and Casey wondered why he was the only one in sight. He could feel it, that strange little tickle on the back of his neck that had saved his life more than once. His eyes swept the area while V. H. talked to the man, looked for anything out of place, studied the disturbed snow, and Casey grew more uneasy as he listened with half an ear to Curtiss report to his boss.

Casey didn’t believe a word of it. His instincts had a high accuracy rate, and they were telling him Curtiss was the inside man.

It was possible the other man was innocent, but when he lifted a bare hand to scratch his cheek, Curtiss’s knuckles were bruised. He could have done that hitting an intruder, but that wasn’t the story the man spun for his boss. Instead, he claimed to have seen no one, claimed he came back to the guesthouse and found the agents inside out cold but wasn’t able to revive them. He told V. H. that he couldn’t raise the others on their radios, and Casey wondered why he wasn’t activating their beacons or out looking for them. Besides, Curtiss didn’t seem in a hurry to have his incapacitated agents dealt with, nor was he in any hurry to show the bodies, figuratively speaking, to his boss. He had also not asked why Riah’s beacon had activated, let alone responded to it.

As he shot a look at V. H., who wore a concerned mask, Casey relaxed, realized the other man wasn’t buying Curtiss’s story, either.

While V. H. questioned the other man, Casey made a show of stepping around them and looking around. When Curtiss quit sliding looks his way, he drew the SIG and walked behind him.

“I’ll take your weapon,” V. H. said quietly.

“Why?” Curtiss demanded, but that wasn’t innocent outrage in his voice.

“You’re relieved of duty until we sort this out.” V. H. removed his good hand from his coat pocket. Casey was relieved to see he was armed. “We can do this the easy way, or Casey can shoot you and then we can sort it out later.”

Curtiss shot a look over his shoulder, and Casey did his part, looked as menacing as he could manage as he trained his weapon on him.

For a moment, Casey thought the other man would choose the hard way and a probable bullet, but then his shoulders dropped and he handed over his weapon. Casey took it, checked to make sure he didn’t have others, and then he cuffed the man with his own handcuffs.

In the guesthouse, V. H. stood guard while Casey worked his way through. Six operatives were inside, and all were unconscious. That left five operatives unaccounted for, and given the weather, he figured the first order of business was to locate them before they froze—assuming they were outside on the grounds and not actually hunting Kincaid’s possible assistants. That would have to wait for the agents to arrive from St. John’s, though, because neither Casey nor V. H. was willing to risk an ambush on the perimeter. On the other hand, Casey felt an urgent need to get back to the main house.

He called Riah, who was still pissed off judging from the way she answered her phone. He filled her in succinctly and told her not to open the door to anyone except her father or him. Casey wasn’t entirely sure she should trust the new operatives coming in, and he told her so. He finished by asking if she was packed.

“And so are you,” she told him tightly.

It was probably a good thing he checked the words _Good girl_ and substituted, “Thanks.”

“How long, John?”

“Not sure,” he told her, eyeing Curtiss. “Your mother and the others need to be ready to go, too.”

“Not a problem.” From the way Riah said it, he wondered if she’d had to threaten Ariel and how.

When the replacements arrived, Casey was glad to see they were agents V. H. obviously trusted. He left them to it, returned to the main house.

They rode with V. H., escorted by ISI operatives and Mounties. Riah was tense up until the moment they were airborne, this time in Ariel’s plane. Casey had made arrangements for a flight from Chicago to Los Angeles. As they settled in, he pulled Riah against him, and decided to catch up on his sleep.

 

They flew commercial out of Chicago under assumed names and identities with several NSA agents keeping an eye on them. Casey had a text when they landed in Chicago telling him what he’d asked for was on its way. It was delivered on the O’Hare concourse by, of all people, Isobel Gerrard.

She intercepted Casey when Riah took Victoria into a women’s room to change her.

He hadn’t had a real chance to talk to her at his wedding, so he tried to remember the last time he’d actually spoken to Izzie, finally realized it had been at least thirteen years, about the time she had married her husband. Izzie was at least a decade his senior—Casey had never been sure exactly how much older she was than he—but she looked younger than he did. She was several inches taller than his wife, and given the brightness of her auburn hair, she had taken to dyeing it. Her face was still smooth, and her body was still good enough to merit several second looks.

Izzie gave him a hug, and Casey hugged back, felt something slip into his pocket. “V. H. said to make sure you got that,” she told him. She gave him a hard look. “He also said to make sure that your man is the only other person who sees it.”

After he gave her a nod, Casey said, “Sorry to hear about Don.”

Izzie gave him a bitter smile. “So was I, Casey.”

“You look good,” he added.

Her smile slid to amused. “So do you.” A brow went up, and Izzie crossed her arms. “If you weren’t married to Mariah, I’d consider picking up where we never went.”

Casey grinned at her. There hadn’t been a chance in hell, and he knew it. She’d never had eyes for anyone but Don Gerrard, who had been a damn lucky man. “Years too late, Izzie—though I confess when I found out V. H. was sending a female operative to L. A., I hoped for a while it would be you.”

Izzie looked over at the restroom where Riah had taken Victoria. “I’m flattered, but you and I both know that would never have worked.” She reached out, squeezed his arm. “Take care of them, Casey.” And then she melted into a crowd of travelers who had just come off a plane.

Riah apparently hadn’t seen her as she rejoined him, so he took Victoria from his wife and put a hand in the small of her back to guide her to their gate.

On the flight, Victoria took some distracting, but Casey managed to help her mother do that while he ran contingencies.

Bartowski and Walker were at the airport when they landed. Casey relaxed when he saw Walker had brought company—a small CIA team.

Riah took Victoria upstairs when they got home, and Casey waited only until he was sure she was out of earshot. “I need to know how to contact your father,” Casey told Chuck.

It wasn’t hard to read Bartowski’s confusion, nor was it hard to see Walker’s. “Dad—“

“Needs to do a job,” Casey told the kid. He fished the flash drive Izzie had delivered out of his pocket. “These are files from the Montreal Project—the schematics for what they did to Riah. Your dad’s getting it out of her head, so you’re going to find him and convince him to do this because if I have to find him, I won’t be asking.”

Something lit in the kid’s eyes. Casey realized he shouldn’t have told Chuck what it was. “Maybe I could—“

“No.” Casey had his orders, and he fully intended to follow them. “Your dad and only your dad gets a look at this.”

Bartowski blew out a breath, buried his hands in his pockets. “Ellie is the one who knows how to find him.”

Biting back the instinctive Bullshit, Casey had to admit what he said instead was little better: “Dad can’t take the runaway mouth, either?”

“No,” the kid said, brown eyes frozen mud as he glared at Casey. “Ellie’s the one who needed to know she could find him, so he told her how.”

Walker interceded then. “I can find him, get a message to him.”

Because, Casey thought snidely, the CIA owned the older Bartowski now that he’d turned up once more. He knew Beckman had had a come to Jesus meeting with the man, but Casey hadn’t been privy to the finer details. Bartowski Senior got to do his thing, but if Uncle Sam called, he had to at least acknowledge the call. Casey suspected Stephen Bartowski would make sure they couldn’t find him even as he minimally complied.

“Do it.”

His partner looked like she would protest, but Walker closed her mouth, shifted her weight and gave him a grim nod. Then she asked, “Chuck’s safety?”

After they made plans to keep Bartowski, Riah, and Victoria safe, she took Chuck home while Casey went upstairs to his family.

 

It took nearly a week for him to hear from Stephen Bartowski. When he did, Casey made arrangements to meet the man, promised to tell no one else.

For once, the man didn’t act flaky. Casey had assumed Stephen Bartowski was somewhere on the autism scale since he always seemed distracted, barely spoke, rarely met anyone’s eyes, and fidgeted, but this time Bartowski’s father met his eyes squarely and firmly asked for the schematics. Casey handed over the flash drive, and the man pulled a laptop from his bag and plugged it in. Casey watched him read through the files. When he finished, he closed the laptop and looked at Casey once more.

“I’m not sure I can do what you want.”

Casey unclenched his jaw. “Why not?”

Stephen Bartowski sat back in the passenger seat of the Suburban. “This is different than what I did.” He ran a hand through his hair, shrugged, and looked out the windshield. “Truthfully, Casey? I’m afraid removing this might do more damage than it may have already done.” Bartowski turned to face him again. “When Chuck was little, he inadvertently took in my first Intersect—he doesn’t remember that because when I removed it, which wasn’t at all easy, it took some of his memories with it.”

“That didn’t happen the last time,” Casey pointed out.

“No,” Bartowski agreed, “but the last time I knew what I was doing, what I was working with. This,” and he patted the laptop he still held, “this is something completely different. Even if I can get it out, it’s entirely possible I’ll take more than just their version of the Intersect.”

Casey met the man’s stare, weighed his words, and finally decided Stephen Bartowski was telling the truth. “She wants it out.”

“I can understand why,” the other man said. “It’s a flawed design, but that might actually have been to her advantage.”

Unable to imagine how, Casey asked.

“It didn’t work right,” Bartowski said. “That kept her off the radar. On the other hand, there are some side effects to the Intersect I designed, and from what Chuck has said and what I’ve been told, she hasn’t been prone to those.”

“What kind of side effects?” Casey asked, his concern shifting from his wife to the problems he and Walker would have if this man’s son suddenly started malfunctioning. Beckman would have Chuck killed if he didn’t work, after all, and Casey was at the point he didn’t really want to be the trigger man.

“Some mental instability, some malfunctions that seem to come with prolonged flashes,” Chuck’s father admitted, “but you’d know if Chuck were having problems.” He sighed. “No one’s ever had this long-term,” he told Casey, “except your wife, whom, I’m told, has trouble with depression but otherwise seems fine.”

Before Casey could ask again, Bartowski added, “There’s risk to your wife, Casey. If I get this wrong, she’ll be brain damaged or, possibly, simply lose her memory. Are you sure you want to risk that?”

As far as he was concerned, the answer was hell no, but, Casey knew, it wasn’t his decision to make.

Bartowski read his answer. “If she really insists, I’ll need to talk to her father.” Casey frowned, so the man added, “There’s more I’ll need to know to minimize the risk.” He removed the flash drive, handed it back to Casey, and said, “Talk to Mariah. If she still wants to do this, call me.”

“How do I—“ Casey began as the man reached for the door release.

“It’s on the drive.”

 

It took Casey a couple of days to raise the issue with Riah. He was reluctant to do so because he wasn’t certain he wanted her to do this. Ellie offered to keep Victoria for him so he could take her to dinner, and over sushi, Casey quietly told Riah what he’d learned.

That night in their bed, she told him, “Much as I want it gone, it’s never really been a problem.”

“Just a magnet for trouble,” he said tersely.

Riah sighed, lifted her head from his shoulder and met his eyes in the dim room. “Yes, but mostly nothing happens. Maybe it’s best to leave it alone.”

To his surprise, Casey was relieved by her decision. She put her head back on his shoulder, and he tucked her closer.

Hopefully, he thought as he settled in, the bad guys would give up, leave her and their daughter alone. He’d never thought he’d hope Bartowski would be the target—except in his most excruciatingly bored moments or when the kid had done something spectacularly dimwitted enough to thoroughly piss Casey off—but he’d learned to cope with the risks to the kid. The ones to his family were harder for him to accept.

 

To his relief, the Ring quit going after the Intersect directly. It made Casey more suspicious than he naturally was, especially coupled with some increasingly odd behavior on Beckman’s part. If he didn’t know better, Casey would think the woman was afraid of something—or at least hiding something. What about Bartowski could make her so, though, Casey couldn’t imagine. He put it down to occupational hazard, and shrugged it off.

And then that Commie bastard Goya came to Los Angeles.


	38. Chapter 38

In Casey’s eyes, the only thing that could have made the news Beckman delivered to them better was if the bastard was actually dead. He’d spent two and a half decades either trying to kill Generalissimo Alejandro Goya or assisting those intent on overthrowing him. He’d made three assassination attempts on Beckman’s direct orders, and he’d fought as an “advisor” during an attempted revolution. The Commie was among the last of a thankfully dying breed: tinpot dictators of Latin American nations with no real standing in the world and no real support or resources after the collapse of the Soviet Union.

It comforted Casey that Castro was likely to die any day—though the wily bastard should have been dead many times since 1959—and now it looked like Goya might be on the terminal list as well.

If he was supposed to be sorry on either account, he wasn’t, and he wouldn’t pretend to be so. The only thing he was sorry about was that he hadn’t managed to actually kill Goya. As a result, when Beckman’s face appeared on the monitors and announced that Goya was gravely ill, Casey couldn’t help his sarcasm or his thinly disguised glee. Unfortunately, they were supposed to protect the man who was responsible for the deaths of many of his fellow countrymen and who had been a sworn enemy of the United States.

At least Casey didn’t have to be on the front lines of this, didn’t have to directly save the man. Not only would he be recognized but no one from the Costa Gravan mission would trust him. It was just as well, he supposed, because Casey wasn’t at all certain, orders or not, that he could pivot that quickly and protect the man—not with all he knew and not after having spent a good chunk of his life trying to rid Costa Gravas of its dictator.

On the drive home, he considered his own country’s sometimes shifting loyalties. Saddam Hussein had been their best friend as long as he was killing Iranians, but when he gave that up and turned to other friends, the U.S. had been out to get him—managed it, too. They had propped up the Shah of Iran, for that matter, until it was clearly a lost cause. Pinochet in Chile. Operation Condor in Argentina. Hell, they were making friends with Vietnam these days after fighting them in a bitterly divisive war.

But Casey wasn’t paid to decide who was friend or foe, so he did what he was ordered to do. He was just happy he didn’t have to play a direct role in Goya’s protection.

Still, he couldn’t help wondering if this would be Nicaragua all over again, wondered if those democratic elections the man intended to announce would put someone else in power briefly before allowing Goya back into the palace as the people’s elected choice, lending him a legitimacy his coup hadn’t.

He saw lights in Ellie and Woodcomb’s new apartment, wondered if his wife was there or at home as he entered the courtyard. Casey and Riah had helped the other couple finish moving into their larger apartment earlier in the day, but he’d been called in to deal with an arms dealer, as had Bartowski who’d been at the Buy More. The kid had gone directly home on a chopper because he’d promised Ellie he’d be there to do Nerd Herd stuff while Casey had stayed behind to write his report.

As it turned out, Bartowski had wound up back at Castle when the news broke, but Goya was Walker and Bartowski’s problem, not his, thank God.

After he let himself in his own apartment, Casey heard a noise upstairs followed by the soft, indeterminate sound of his wife’s voice. He shot a glance at his watch, figured, given the early hour of the morning, Victoria must have woken hungry. He found them in the rocker where Riah normally nursed their daughter. Given the sleepy look on the baby’s face, she’d been fed and changed already. Casey felt a mild disappointment.

He’d never admit it, but he liked being there while his wife nursed their daughter. In large part it was because it was the one time in his day when nothing else was allowed to intrude. Riah smiled at him. Casey saw the tiredness in her face and hoped she hadn’t been waiting up for him.

Bending to kiss her, he stroked a soft hand over Victoria’s head.

“Everything okay?” Riah asked softly.

“Mostly,” Casey told her in an equally soft voice. Her brows went up, so he added, “Going to be busy the next few days.”

He could read the question in her eyes, but she didn’t ask, didn’t push. Casey couldn’t tell her anyway, not until what Goya intended was public knowledge. While she finished getting Victoria back to sleep, he went and took a shower, brushed his teeth before he joined her in their bed.

Riah hadn’t left the apartment much since they returned from Newfoundland. She had trouble sleeping, and when she did sleep, she often woke, usually after a nightmare. She was seeing the therapist again, and Casey knew Finley and Kincaid were responsible for that. At least, he thought, it wasn’t as bad as he’d seen it before, perhaps because she had Victoria to worry about. Casey was certain, though, their daughter was the reason she didn’t go out much. Riah didn’t leave Victoria with Ellie or even Grimes as she’d done before if she wanted an hour or so to run errands or have a little time for herself and he wasn’t available.

It killed Casey to admit that the bearded manchild was good with his daughter, was probably Victoria’s favorite babysitter. Given Grimes’s perpetual boyhood, Casey was still shocked Bartowski’s best friend took Victoria’s care as seriously as he did, but after careful inspection each time Grimes watched her, Casey had to grudgingly admit he couldn’t fault the boy’s care.

As a result, he wondered if Grimes would watch Victoria while he took Riah out for an evening. Casey had to coordinate the behind-the-scenes part of Goya’s detail, so until the announcement was made, he couldn’t guarantee when he’d be free or for how long, but as soon as this was over, he intended to give Riah a nice night out.

She snuggled against him and put her arm over his chest. Casey wrapped his own arm around her and kissed her. “Let’s see if she’ll let us sleep late,” he told his wife. He didn’t have to be at the Buy More early.

With that thought, Casey found himself suddenly interested in something other than sleep. He turned toward Riah and put a hand just above her knee, stroked up her thigh and under the hem of her nightgown. Riah’s hands went to the waistband of his pajama bottoms and then inside as her mouth met his hungrily.

 

The answer was that Victoria did, but not that late, Casey realized when the first thin cry woke him. The light filtering into the room had an early quality to it, so he figured it was somewhere around six or six thirty. He had things to do before the Buy More, but he was in no huge hurry to do them. Beckman was supposed to have Goya’s schedule for the next couple of weeks for them. Once they had that, he and Walker would consider that schedule and then coordinate with the other agencies that would follow the Costa Gravans around to make sure no one got to the Generalissimo before Goya could make his announcement.

Victoria gave another cry, this one a little stronger, and Riah stirred next to him. Casey kissed her before he rolled to sit on the side of the bed to put his pants on. Riah sat up and searched for the gown he’d removed while Casey got up and went to get their daughter. He made coffee and checked his messages while his wife fed their daughter. When Riah followed him downstairs, she handed him Victoria, kissed him, and started breakfast. As he refilled his cup, he told her, “I’ve got to go to Castle.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “I have an appointment with Danielle, and then I need to run to the store.”

It wouldn’t be the first time he took Victoria to work, but he hated doing so since the one time he’d had a crying baby there when Beckman called, his boss’s displeasure had been unpleasant, which had made Victoria even angrier. Casey was always afraid he’d get a call while he had her in Castle and wouldn’t be able to find her a babysitter if Riah was equally busy. He wondered if Grimes was working, especially since Casey knew Ellie was on nights this week. He decided he’d work from the apartment until Riah could get back, so he told Riah he’d stay with Victoria and sent his boss a message to explain. Beckman okayed the change of location.

His wife nodded. “I’ll come straight home and get her as soon as I finish with Danielle.”

Casey gruffly told her to run her errands as he set Victoria’s seat next to his monitors and settled in. Knowing his wife, she wouldn’t.

Goya didn’t have but a handful of public events on his schedule, Casey found when he pulled it up. Beckman’s e-mail to which it had been attached noted that the plans weren’t final. The hardest event to cover would be the gala in the consulate. They’d need to get inside for that, Casey realized, which would not be easy. The Costa Gravans weren’t known for trust, so they were unlikely to let any U. S. agents inside.

For a minute, Casey considered his wife, who might be able to get inside since her government had long ago acknowledged Goya’s. He rejected it, though, because the fact that she was married to him would bar her from the guest list or, possibly, put yet another target on her. That didn’t stop him from making a note to talk to Ellerby, see if she or someone else would be in attendance and if she’d be willing to do Casey a favor.

He had a videoconference with the head of the local CIA bureau, talked through surveillance of Goya and his top lieutenants. They discussed tracking Goya’s enemies who might be nearby. Shortly after that, as he read through one those enemy’s file, Riah called him, told him she was on her way. Since Victoria was asleep, he told her she might as well go on and do her shopping.

It figured that Beckman called almost as soon as he hung up, told him to get Bartowski and Walker.

The kid and his partner arrived before Riah did. Beckman was busy when they called, and they were told to wait. Casey took the opportunity to explain he would have to recuse himself and why, but before he could further explain, Bartowski started making fun of something the kid really didn’t understand. Before he could retaliate, Casey heard voices outside. When he looked, Goya’s private guard were taking up positions in the courtyard. Casey went on autopilot, opened the weapons locker above the fireplace and plotted how to get out and stop Riah from returning home. He didn’t want his wife there where she could be taken and used against him or where she or Victoria might get caught in the crossfire. It was bad enough Victoria was upstairs, down for a nap. Casey had no illusions that the Costa Gravans would leave him to go quietly about his business if they knew he was there. They were his sworn enemies just as he was theirs, and if they got an opportunity, they’d kill him. Collateral damage wouldn’t matter.

To his shock and Bartowski’s horror, Goya knocked on the Woodcomb’s door. Goya invited the Woodcombs to his gala, and Bartowski got himself invited along as well. Casey, inside his apartment out of sight behind closed blinds, nodded. As Goya’s men prepared to leave, he started calculating what the two of them would need that evening and wondered where Riah was.

He was about to move to his door when he saw her come through the archway just as the last of Goya’s men left. Casey held his breath, even though he doubted any of them had a reason to recognize her. Bartowski and Walker followed her into the apartment. Casey convinced Bartowski to go get the groceries from Riah’s car since he didn’t think he needed to be spotted by Goya’s men if any were still lurking. Walker went with the kid while Riah eyed the shotgun in Casey’s hands.

“Am I allowed to ask why Alejandro Goya just left our apartment complex?”

“Came to see Woodcomb.” Casey returned the gun to the hidden safe and closed it.

“I heard a news report on the radio.” It wasn’t hard to see she’d like an explanation.

“Woodcomb saved his life,” Casey groused.

Her expression told him she was making an accurate guess about what had caused Goya’s need to be saved in the first place. What she asked, though, was, “Where’s Victoria?”

“Asleep.”

She quickly unpacked groceries, put them away, and went upstairs. The entire time, Riah talked to Chuck and Walker, kept the conversation on topics that never strayed even tangentially to what a Latin American dictator had been doing in their neighborhood. She went upstairs when she finished.

Beckman called shortly after, and they received their orders. Casey ran upstairs, told Riah he was going, kissed her, and went to get ready for a job he really didn’t want.

 

\-------X-------

 

When Mariah came home to see Alejandro Goya and his personal guard leaving their apartment complex, she’d wondered what in hell he was doing there. She had a moment of panic, thought about the fact that John’s government and Goya’s were sworn enemies, but then she calmed when one of Goya’s men nodded to her. She gave him a slight smile and tiny nod but didn’t speak. That told her they hadn’t likely just killed her husband or her friends. It didn’t explain what they were doing in Echo Park, though, especially since, according to a news report she’d heard during her drive home, Goya was just out of the hospital after a health scare.

Chuck and Sarah Walker were talking to Ellie and Devon, so Mariah lifted a hand before continuing to her own apartment. The door was unlocked, which was unlike John. When she stepped inside, she was surprised to find him armed and peering out the living room window like a man anticipating imminent attack.

Chuck and Sarah Walker followed her in, so she left them to it. After Chuck and Walker left, John still didn’t tell her what was going on, and she didn’t press. Instead, she considered her options.

After she and John were married, it hadn’t taken her long to realize the NSA was monitoring her phone, e-mail, and Internet usage. That meant she couldn’t use any of her usual methods to find out what was going on, so she gave some thought to how she might be able to learn what she wanted to know. From the look of John when she came in the door, he considered Goya a definite threat, so Mariah wanted to know if she should, too.

Later in the day, Mariah intercepted Ellie on her way to work. The other woman gushed about the invitation to the Costa Gravan consulate’s gala. Without prompting, Ellie told her how Devon had been called in when the man was hospitalized, and then she told Mariah what Devon had indiscreetly told her about the man’s condition.

That gave Mariah much more to think about. She decided she’d pay Mona Ellerby a visit the next day, suggest they have that lunch they often talked about, and pump her for information.

Mariah could make a good guess, though. The intelligence analyst in her hadn’t been able to give up reading numerous newspapers from all over the world since it often provided clues about where to look for exploitable intel, so she knew a lot about what was going on in Costa Gravas from the Spanish-language newspapers she periodically read. Speculation was rife that Goya, in a bid to end criticism of his rule, planned elections. He had no family member to whom he could pass power, unlike Castro, unless she counted Hortensia Goya, the Generalissimo’s wife. While the man professed love for his wife, Mariah knew he was no fool, and he’d have to be a fool to pass power to the woman who appeared to have taken one of her husband’s chief lieutenants as a lover.

When John came home that night, she was upstairs nursing Victoria. Mariah often fed their daughter in the spaces where she knew there was no surveillance because the idea someone outside the family might see her do so made her want to cringe. John called out from below, and she told him where she was.

Her husband carried a glass of scotch when he joined her, which told Mariah his day hadn’t been a good one, so she smiled and told him she’d fix him dinner when she was finished with their daughter.

John nodded absently, sipped at his scotch, and sat on the end of the bed. “I have to help protect Goya.” Mariah could hear a thread of underlying venom in his voice. “I’d rather take one more crack at killing him.”

She raised her brows, and John told her—despite the fact he definitely shouldn’t, which spoke of how badly this bothered him—about the attempts in 1983 and 1988, about his final attempt in the early nineties. He told her about fighting with the best organized of the groups who had attempted to overthrow Goya, and she froze when John told her what they had called him in Costa Gravas. _Good Lord._ They had all been right, Mariah thought faintly. She hadn’t completely understood who she was marrying.

After a few moments, she recovered, though, decided it didn’t change how she felt about the man she knew. Mariah gave John a concerned look as she shifted Victoria to her other breast. She knew his record, knew the kinds of things he had done, but it was odd to find herself on the opposite side from him on this one. She, after all, had twice served as protection for Generalissimo Alejandro Goya after Canada had recognized his government in the mid-eighties, though she had not had to go up against John either time. She was thankful for that, thankful that by the time she had been assigned to Costa Gravas John had long moved on from Latin America, especially since she knew what had happened during John’s three assassination attempts.

Like with Castro, the Americans kept trying and kept failing. Then, Mariah saw the humor in it, though she doubted he would. “What?” John barked crankily.

“El Ángel de la Muerte?” she laughed, glad she was able to, given what she knew.

“Why does everyone laugh when I say that?”

She grinned. “Trust me, John, it isn’t that kind of laugh.” She realized this was going to take some delicate negotiation.

Mariah had heard of el Ángel de la Muerte, but she had not known he was John. No one in Costa Gravas had ever given her the agent’s actual name. He was a legend, the bogey man mothers in the Latin American nation used to scare their children into submission. She had laughed because Mariah had trouble picturing her husband as the truly evil, satanic bastard of whom she had heard so much during her times in Costa Gravas. She’d known the stories were exaggerated, but now she had a better idea of just how badly exaggerated they were. She could also better see the truth in all the warnings she inevitably got about the man she married.

He frowned, puzzled. “What do you mean it isn’t that kind of laugh?”

Normally, this was a nice, quiet time. John was home from work, and he came upstairs and sat with her while she fed their daughter. It was peaceful, and they could talk in private. “You know my government recognized Generalissimo Goya’s government nearly twenty-five years ago?”

John got that look—that lowered brows, narrowed eyes and pouting look that was actually a little scary and that he wore when he was pissed off—but this time there was something in his face that told her he wasn’t angry though he certainly wasn’t happy. “Hardly surprising since you’re the next closest thing to communist.”

She smiled, amused. It had become a joke between them, so she made her usual response. “Socialist, John. Not at all the same thing.”

He took a swallow of his scotch.

“ISI has sent him protection a time or two over the years,” Mariah said quietly, watching his reaction carefully. And there it was, she thought. John lifted his chin slightly and those eyes bored into her. He was working it out.

“So your father was on one of his protection details.”

Mariah nodded.

The look on his face soured. This really was a greater sore spot than she had thought it would be, but then John had tried at least three times to kill the man she had been ordered to protect. Then, he worked the rest of it out. “You, too.”

Mariah nodded cautiously.

John’s expression turned thoughtful. “When was the last time?”

She shrugged. “After your government’s last attempt on him in 2004.” She was thankful that one had not been John. By that time, he was busy elsewhere, and Costa Gravas was someone else’s problem.

Her husband gave her another of his looks; this one was the one she generally saw when John was trying to figure out what her relationship to another man had been. She had first seen it with Gray Laurance, then with her stepfather, with General Patterson, and now, Goya. The man was a notorious womanizer, but Mariah had gone into Costa Gravas forewarned. It had been a delicate dance to not offend the Premier and to stay just far enough away from him to avoid his seduction attempts yet get close enough to do her job. It didn’t help that Goya could be charming, but she knew better than to say that to her husband.

“The first time I was there two weeks,” Mariah confessed. “It didn’t take long to deal with the threat. The second time, it was two months.” Two unpleasant months, she could have told him, because Hortensia, the Generalissimo’s wife, had been jealous of Goya’s flirtation with Mariah. Of course, the other woman was playing with one of Goya’s trusted guardians. Mariah had been very glad to get on the plane back to Ottawa that time.

John grunted, lifted his glass of scotch. She wished a moment she could drink, too. He watched her, but the flare of anger or jealousy or whatever it had been was gone. “The U. S. plans to recognize his government.”

She nodded. It wasn’t hard to read between the lines of news reports, and the Latin American papers Mariah read had suggested several times in the last two months Goya might make an overture to the Americans.

“We’re supposed to keep him alive until he makes his announcement about democratic elections while he’s here in Los Angeles.”

Mariah nodded again.

John sighed. “It’s up to Walker and the Moron.”

Victoria dropped her nipple, so Mariah eased her daughter upright. John’s eyes followed her movements as she rubbed their daughter’s back. He set his glass down, took Victoria and continued rubbing her back. He gave her a look, one she had no problem reading. Mariah put her bra back to rights and began working her buttons back into their holes. “I’m no longer in the business, John.”

“The new Intersect is unstable, Riah,” he told her. She knew that, had observed Chuck’s lack of control, and even if she hadn’t, John had mentioned it before. “Walker could use the help.”

She was tempted. She was seriously tempted, and that surprised Mariah. The thrill of the hunt, she supposed, but she had given that up. As she eyed John and their daughter, she reminded herself the tradeoff was worth it.

“You’re friends, an ally,” he said neutrally. “He’d invite you.”

Mariah arched a brow. “The wife of el Ángel de la Muerte?” She shook her head. “I sincerely doubt it, John.” He believed it, though, which was obvious from his expression. She tilted her head. “You’re serious,” she breathed.

“I’d rather see the bastard dead, but a job’s a job.” John shrugged. “Orders, Riah, and I’m not sure, given Goya’s enemies, that Walker and Bartowski are enough protection. I can’t go inside, but you could.”

“I can’t, John,” Mariah said emphatically. “You know what I agreed to—what you agreed to—when we got married. No intelligence work—especially not for the Americans.”

“You wouldn’t be working for us,” John told her, shifting Victoria off his shoulder and standing to change her. “You’d be there as a private citizen. If something happened, though, it wouldn’t be outside the bounds for you to provide Walker with assistance.”

She watched him change Victoria’s diaper and wondered what Goya would think if he saw the Angel of Death doing such a mundane task. Mariah thought about what John had said. She could argue that as she had twice been on Goya’s security detail that when he was endangered, she had an obligation to intercede. Beckman would most likely let her get away with it since it would serve the American’s interest. Her father and her government would probably be an entirely different story.

“No, John, I can’t.” She found a clean gown for their daughter and stepped over as he finished his task and changed her clothes while he went and disposed of the dirty diaper and cleaned his hands. When he returned, Mariah picked up where she had left off. “There’s no one to leave Victoria with,” she reminded him, “and Ellie would only wonder what I was doing there without you.” Mariah shook her head and put Victoria in her crib. “No, I better sit this one out.”

John slid his arms around her waist. “Probably just as well,” he grumbled. “The first time Goya slobbered on you, I’d have to kill him.”

She grinned at her husband. “You wouldn’t.”

His face soured. “No, but I would really want to.”

 

It did go wrong—horribly wrong. When Mariah answered her phone to a nearly hysterical Chuck, when she finally understood his excited rambling, she went lightheaded. John was imprisoned in the Costa Gravan consulate, the guards under the belief that he had planned another attempt on Goya. They would kill him, and she knew it. John was a dead man. They would execute him, and it would be done before the Americans could even begin to negotiate.

Suarez. She would call Antonio Suarez. They had worked together, liked one another, so Mariah could probably get him to get her an audience with the Generalissimo. She would beg for her husband’s life.

She told Chuck not to worry and that she would involve her government. Mariah had no such intentions, knew her father would refuse and so would the Canadian foreign office. She raced for the phone book the second she disconnected the call. She would start by calling the Costa Gravan consulate, and she would ask for Captain Suarez. She pulled the book out of the drawer and turned on the security feeds from Chuck’s and from Castle. The number for the consulate got her a recording about business hours. Mariah gave a frustrated growl, one that got uglier when she heard Beckman tell Walker and Chuck that there was little she could do so John would just have to take care of himself for the time being.

Within seconds, Beckman filled the monitor on the wall. The other woman didn’t mince words. “Mrs. Casey, I’m sure you’re aware of your husband’s situation as well as what I just told Agent Walker and Mr. Bartowski.” A quick look at the computer screen told Mariah Beckman knew she had had the feed on. Mariah neither apologized nor denied it. “Please do nothing.”

“General—“

“Nothing,” the other woman told her tartly. “The Colonel’s situation is precarious enough, Mariah,” Beckman added. “The hostile forces in Costa Gravas would take any Canadian interference as a bad sign. We’re worried there will be a coup before the Generalissimo can make his announcement. I repeat: Do nothing.”

That gave her no choice, she realized. Mariah would not be the one whose actions tipped the scales out of favor for John. “Yes, Ma’am.”

The General leaned forward. “That’s not to say, Mariah, that if an opportunity presents itself you shouldn’t take advantage of it. You are, after all, Colonel Casey’s wife, the mother of his child. I understand the Costa Gravans take family very seriously.”

When she was gone, Mariah sat bemused before the seal and its blue background. Perhaps the General was right, Mariah thought, but then she realized that the feeds from Castle were still playing and that Devon Woodcomb was there. She listened as he explained that he had been called to the consulate. She would see if they could get John free. If they didn’t, then she’d try.

A couple of hours later, she assumed they had failed. Walker or Chuck would surely have called her if John was safe, but she had heard nothing. Mariah would wait no longer, especially since she was certain time was most definitely not on John’s side.

She took Victoria, certain they might more likely believe her story if for no other reason than that no operative would so endanger a child as to take her on a mission—especially a rescue mission that might turn deadly.

When one of the guards at the consulate gate spoke to her, Mariah gave him her name, omitted for the moment her married name, and asked him to get Captain Antonio Suarez for her.

After a considerable wait during which she was careful not to move while she stared down the remaining guard, the first guard returned with Suarez. “Señorita Adderly,” he said. Mariah nodded. “How may I be of assistance?”

“My husband is inside,” she said, deciding not to prevaricate. “I would like to see him.”

There was a flare of surprise in the other man’s eyes. “The doctor?” Mariah heard the incredulous note, and she knew that he had likely met both Devon and Ellie.

“El Ángel de la Muerte,” she said firmly.

Suarez paled. The guard behind him actually looked faint and made the sign of the cross. Mariah must have inadvertently tightened her grip on Victoria because she squirmed and let out a faint cry. Suarez’s eyes dropped to the baby she held. “El Ángel de la Muerte’s child?” He sounded shell-shocked.

She nodded. “I’ve come to plead for his life with the Generalissimo.”

To her relief, he gestured to the guard to open the gate. Mariah was even more worried that she hadn’t had to work any harder than that to get inside. Something was wrong. Friend or no, Antonio Suarez would never have let her in just because she asked. She simply hoped she wasn’t going to find they had already killed John.

The Captain led her inside the consulate and through the public rooms to the private suites. She followed him along a hallway to a door guarded by sentries. Mariah had grown more nervous as they walked deeper inside. She supposed she should be glad she wasn’t being taken to a dungeon. Of course, the door could conceal the stairs down, she realized.

The first person Mariah saw when she stepped inside was Devon Woodcomb. He stood over Goya, who lay in a hospital bed. Her eyes automatically searched for John, and when she found him, she rushed toward him. “What have you done?” she demanded from Devon.

John lay on a sofa next to Goya’s bed. The two men were connected by a tube, and Mariah realized they were transfusing Goya using John’s blood. Her husband’s left leg was bare, the lower part of his thigh bound by a bandage stained red—as were the remains of his pant leg. It didn’t take much imagination to realize what had happened, and she rounded on the doctor, intent on getting an explanation.

“The Generalissimo needed a transfusion, and Casey’s the only one with the right blood type.” She noted Devon sounded defensive.

Mariah gave him a disbelieving stare. “How much did he bleed out before you fixed the wound?” John’s green fatigues had a large stain where the blood had seeped out, and she could see another blood stain spread on the upholstery of the couch on which her husband lay.

“Actually, I took care of his wound.”

She turned incredulous eyes on Chuck; then Mariah felt faint. He wasn’t a doctor, and if he had made mistakes, he could have killed John.

“Relax, Mariah,” Devon said. “I’ve got it all under control.”

“Have you done this before?”

Devon got that weird smile he got when he was about to lie. “Sure.”

She raised a brow and dropped her voice dangerously. “Like this?”

The smile faded. “Well, not like this,” he admitted.

“Then listen up,” Mariah told him tightly. “If John dies, becomes ill, has his immune system compromised or,” she looked at her husband’s leg, “gets gangrene, you will not enjoy what happens to you. _That_ I promise.”

With that, she turned to John, checked his pulse, and was relieved to feel a steady heartbeat. Captain Suarez touched her arm. Mariah turned to look at him, and he gestured toward a chair one of his men held. When the guard had set it next to John, she sat, dropped the diaper bag and moved the sleeping Victoria to a more comfortable position. Then, as she had done the only other time she had visited him when he had been incapacitated and under medical care, Mariah took John’s hand and held it. She continued to do so once Devon disconnected the transfusion tubing and cleaned and covered where they had tapped John’s vein. She gave Devon a hard, steady stare as he worked. Only when he stepped away did she turn her attention back to John. Mariah only released his hand when Victoria woke, and she needed to feed her.

“When I asked the Madonna to intercede for me,” she heard Goya say weakly in his native tongue, “somehow I never expected she would appear as you, Mariah.”

Mariah looked over at him. “I’m no divine apparition.”

“Why are you here?”

“I came for my husband.”

She watched the Generalissimo frown. “I know you are not married to Doctor Devon Woodcomb, and the other,“ he weakly waved a hand in Chuck’s direction, “is with the blonde.”

“John Casey,” Mariah said softly. “My husband is John Casey.” The name the Costa Gravans had given him had managed to get her in the door, but she was reluctant to use it or even John’s military rank with this man. It might be best to remind him that John was a human being, not a legendary figure known for slaughter.

Goya looked past her to where John lay unconscious. “El Ángel de la Muerte,” he said faintly. Mariah suspected he would have spat it had he been stronger. He narrowed his eyes. “Suarez,” he said, but before he could say anything to the captain, Victoria whimpered. Goya lifted his head, looked harder at Mariah and the baby. “You are married to el Ángel de la Muerte?”

She could hear the incredulous note in his voice. Mariah nodded. She shifted Victoria and decided the truth was probably her best bet. “The Americans sent him to protect you until you could make your announcement,” she told him. She frowned at Walker and Chuck. “Did no one explain that?”

When Mariah turned back to him, Goya studied her. “You are truly married to him?”

Mariah nodded. “Yes, and he and the others are really here to protect you.”

At that point Devon interceded, explained about the transfusion. Goya looked incredulous. Mariah had a feeling John had been in no condition to agree to this, was certain he would never have agreed to let them use his blood if he had been, so she remained silent. When Devon finished by saying it had saved the Generalissimo’s life, Goya blanched.

“This is el Ángel—Colonel John Casey’s child?”

Mariah appreciated the shift in name. “Her name is Victoria.”

Goya gave a weak smile. “A good name.” She had a feeling he had intended to say something else. He sighed, and his eyelids drooped. “I am tired now. Captain Suarez.” Antonio Suarez stepped closer. “When Doctor Devon Woodcomb is ready to leave, his friends and Colonel John Casey may go with him.”

She expected Suarez to object, so Mariah met his eyes. He gave her a nod and then told his boss he would see them safely out of the consulate. She relaxed then and focused back on her husband.

John remained unconscious, and when Devon finally felt able to leave Goya in the care of his men, Mariah watched as four of Suarez’s men loaded John onto a gurney—noted that it was not gently done—and put him in the ambulance the others had brought with them. Walker told her they would take her husband to Castle; Mariah didn’t argue. Captain Suarez seemed puzzled that she didn’t go with them. She smiled at him as the ambulance pulled away. “I’m no longer in the business,” she explained.

“So I had heard.”

“You’ve been well?”

He nodded. “You truly married him?”

Mariah grinned at his suspicious tone. “I truly did.”

Suarez sighed. “I suppose there is no accounting for taste.”

This time Mariah laughed. “Apparently not,” she agreed. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “It was nothing.”

She went home to wait and grew impatient as time passed. Mariah couldn’t sleep, so she soon gave up trying. When she finally gave in and tried to call Chuck, it went to voicemail. Since she had no way to get into Castle, since the video feed was now blocked, she had no recourse but to wait.

By midmorning, though, Mariah was ready to interfere. She sat in the courtyard with Victoria while she considered options and allies, mentally ran several scenarios and considered their strengths and weaknesses. She heard voices, then, and turned to see Chuck wheeling a groggy John in a wheelchair.

“No crutches,” her husband said happily with a goofy grin that told her he had some really excellent painkillers in him when he spied her.

After she made Chuck help her get John inside and upstairs, made the younger man help her get John undressed and in bed, Mariah led Chuck back downstairs and prepared to unload—both barrels.

Chuck obviously recognized her intent because he started before she could. “Casey wasn’t supposed to be inside,” he told her in a rush. “Devon tackled him thinking he was an assassin, and then the guards recognized him.”

“How did he get inside?” Mariah demanded, cutting off the babble before he could gain too much momentum.

Brown eyes pleaded. “Sarah and I got thrown out after we took out a dissident, but then I saw the real assassin, and Casey went in to keep an eye on Goya.”

She loosened her clenched jaw and tried to count, breathe deeply and calm down. “How was John able to get inside when you, who was actually invited, couldn’t get back in?” Mariah could have been wrong, could have jumped to a conclusion there, but Chuck’s face went crimson so she figured she scored a bullseye.

“He put on a uniform,” and when she was about to launch more questions, Chuck quickly added, “I don’t know if he took it from a guard or had it with him, but he went in dressed as a guard.”

“Then what?” Mariah bit out, and listened in horror as Chuck told her what Devon had told him, how the guards had recognized him when Devon tackled him, and had taken him away.

“How did he get shot?” Mariah felt faint a moment because she knew damned well Suarez and Goya’s other men were crack shots, so she doubted one of them shot John in the thigh while trying to execute him.

“I don’t really know,” Chuck said. “I think the assassin was going to kill him, but Casey got away from him and one of the guards got him as he tried to escape.”

Mariah nearly told him she doubted that, but she supposed a young guard scared of the legend might have done something wrong and stupid. “How is it you instead of Devon operated on his wound?”

This is what she really wanted to know, after all, and Mariah wanted to know every little detail.

It tempered her anger when Chuck paled and looked faint. Apparently, he understood exactly that he could have killed John. “That big guard you spoke to made me. He didn’t trust us, and I think he thought I’d kill Casey for him.” Chuck gulped air and plowed on before Mariah could start in on him. “I flashed, Mariah. I flashed on exactly what I had to do to remove the bullet and make sure Casey wouldn’t bleed out.”

“Speaking of bleeding out,” Mariah bit out, anger the only thing keeping her from either fainting or running up to check John’s wound for herself, “how on earth did Devon decide John could give up more blood by siphoning it off and into Goya?”

“AB negative.”

She knew that was John’s blood type, but she failed to see why that mattered when type O was the universal blood type. Surely someone had been type O and could have been the donor instead of a man who had been shot and bled profusely. She gave an angry sigh, and even though Mariah thought she should just let it go, she couldn’t quite.

Mariah advanced on Chuck, who backed up until she had him pinned against the living room wall. “You’re going to spend every spare moment you’re not at the Buy More or on a mission from Beckman taking care of John.”

“Isn’t that your job?”

She gave him a hard smile. “Oh, I’ve done that job,” Mariah assured him, thought of what John had been like after Gaza and decided Chuck could just experience the most annoying injured man in the world as his punishment, “and a hurt, operating at less than full-capacity John Casey is a very vicious, very demanding bastard, so it’s your turn. This was your fault, Chuck, and you’re going to make amends.”

Chuck cringed, and Mariah had a moment of amusement riding under her anger at the idea that a man over six feet was intimidated by a woman barely over five feet. “I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you’re going to be,” she assured him.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are a Shaw fan, you aren’t going to like where this ultimately goes. Sorry. 
> 
> Okay, maybe not THAT sorry. . . .

Much to Mariah’s irritation, Chuck escaped punishment. She sighed heavily as she opened her door to Ellie Woodcomb the next morning. The other woman looked upset, asked if she had seen Devon. Mariah hadn’t and told the other woman so. 

Ellie wrung her hands. “Is John here?” she asked hopefully.

Mariah frowned, stepped out, and closed the door behind her. “Is there something you need, Ellie?”

She watched the other woman lift a shaking hand to her forehead. “Devon didn’t come home after his shift,” she said. “He isn’t answering his phone, and no one’s seen him since last night.”

“Have you talked to Chuck?”

Ellie shook her head, sighed. “Not since this morning.” Her shoulders dropped. “He hasn’t seen him, either.”

“I’m sure he’ll be home soon,” Mariah told her, though she wasn’t at all certain of that. Devon had played spy games, so it was entirely possible someone looking for Chuck had found his brother-in-law instead. “Try Chuck’s place again.” 

Worried, she watched Ellie cross the courtyard before she went upstairs to wake John. 

From the look of her husband, either the painkillers had worn off and the leg was giving him problems or he had a sort of hangover from the drugs. When she filled him in on Ellie’s visit, John sighed, rolled, and scrabbled for his cellphone. Mariah left him talking to Sarah Walker. 

Less than half an hour later, he was downstairs. Mariah noticed John didn’t really limp, and she wondered how he managed that. When she’d been shot in the thigh several years ago, she’d been barely able to stand for several days and had a pronounced limp for weeks. “Walker couldn’t find him, so we’ll see if we can trace his steps,” John told her. 

She was about to ask if he was okay, but John gave her a look that convinced her not to. He kissed her and walked slowly out the door.

 

\-------X-------

 

About the only thing Casey and Walker could learn about Ellie’s husband was that he had seen one last patient the night before, and then he had vanished. Mainly they’d been hampered by the kind of Bartowski worry the Intersect shared with his sister. When Chuck had finally gone to work, they made considerably more progress. They had run the security footage from Westside only to discover that when the doctor left, he was accompanied by a man Casey recognized. 

“Bastard was going to kill me,” he growled with all the menace righteous indignation could raise. He quickly told Walker the man with Woodcomb was the Ring operative the Costa Gravans had employed and who had intended to kill him—Goya, too.

They set about running the usual traces, though Casey didn’t really want to call in any other operatives. Doing so was likely to expose Bartowski, so he and Walker agreed to do the legwork since the kid was safely back at the Buy More.

Later in the day, Casey decided the kid’s life—and his, by extension—was beginning to resemble a soap opera. Not that he watched them, of course. He had to admit he enjoyed Bartowski putting Patel down after bitching out the Korean woman—in flawless Korean, no less. As he hunted the Ring agent, tried to follow the man and Woodcomb after they’d left the hospital and vanished, Casey considered the possibility of an Intersect that did more than simply retrieve data on targets and provide martial arts expertise. After all, the kid had tapped into some pretty sophisticated surgical skills to repair Casey’s wound without the slightest hesitation, and the facility with languages was probably more useful than some of the martial skills in many circumstances in which spies typically found themselves. 

Woodcomb turned up, thank God. They talked to Beckman, who offended the kid by telling him they had to use his brother-in-law. Bartowski might be on the first rung of the spy ladder, but if he was going to keep heading up rather than falling off, it was time to put him through the paces. Casey and Walker were going to have to be the ones to teach him, something he’d already realized after Bartowski’s spectacular fail in Prague.

Bartowski’s next freak-out came with the news that Grimes was now the assistant manager of the Buy More. Casey was, at first, appalled by Big Mike’s choice then decided the result might be entertaining in the same way a train wreck could be entertaining. On the other hand, Bartowski never once considered his bearded friend might actually succeed at it this time. He’d failed under Milbarge because of scruples Casey hadn’t thought Grimes would have, given what he’d seen of him as a green shirt, but Casey admired Grimes’s attempts to do right. He still had a lot to learn, a lot to reconcile between his juvenile instincts and that strangely responsible streak of his before he was ready for the big boy pants, but Grimes might make it since Big Mike seemed willing to make sure he learned to do it right rather than just use him as a lightning rod while he did what he wanted.

He gave some thought to whether or not that approach—encouragement and reassurance—would work with Bartowski, who never listened to anything Casey said without getting Walker to back it up. Casey would have to modify what normally passed for encouragement and reassurance, but it wouldn’t be that difficult to do.

When they had learned all they could, Casey told Walker he was headed home. Officially, he was on leave for a couple of days, and his leg throbbed like a son of a bitch. 

As he let himself in their apartment, Riah had dinner underway, so he scooped up Victoria and sat on the sofa intent on keeping her entertained until it was ready. Before it was, though, Beckman called with a few more instructions regarding Operation Awesome, so Casey went to find Bartowski. When he stepped outside, he saw the kid, Ellie, and her husband. Whatever they had been talking about had Ellie staring at him like he was some sort of criminal, her face wearing an expression he hadn’t seen from her before. She quickly dragged her husband inside their apartment, so Casey asked Bartowski what that was about. The kid said it was nothing, and even though Casey was pretty sure it was something, he told Bartowski to get Walker and come over in an hour or so.

He returned home to dinner, amused by the fact Riah prepared a dinner of foods rich in iron, but he said nothing about her apparent desire to head off any anemia blood loss might have caused him. He ate the steak, spinach salad with chopped boiled eggs and mandarin oranges, the artichokes, and the rest with no comment.

They sat on the sofa and talked quietly after clearing up the dishes until someone knocked on the door. Casey told Riah to stay where she was before he hobbled over to the door to let Walker and Bartowski in. Riah stood up, said hello, and then took their daughter upstairs.

Irritated he couldn’t follow them as usual, he listened as the other two discussed what Woodcomb had had to say for himself. Casey knew they were going to have to do something to protect the doctor, but as he thought through options, someone else knocked on the door. 

Not for the first time since this particular operation started, Casey considered how many fucking ways an assignment could go wrong. Woodcomb being thought L.A.’s own James Bond was but one of them. He really could understand the mistake, but it greatly complicated his job. For the most part, he had figured Woodcomb would be easier to handle since he was more likely to listen to them, but the man was a flake who really only trusted his brother-in-law. Of course, he’d thought Casey was going to kill him in this very room less than a year ago, but Casey figured he should have realized he was safe at this point.

Then again, the point was that he obviously wasn’t.

God help the man, but Bartowski was going to have to be Woodcomb’s handler.

As Casey watched the kid get Woodcomb through Sydney Prince’s phone call, he realized that Bartowski had a lot more potential than he’d previously thought. Bartowski kept his head, was calm, reassuring, and that kept Woodcomb from a full-scale meltdown. Casey reconsidered his belief the kid would only be of limited use as anything other than an analyst. As he watched and listened, silently encouraged the kid sitting across from him, Casey came to believe Bartowski could actually have a future as a field agent, might be able to run an asset, and might eventually learn some calm under pressure.

On the other hand, it didn’t take long to smell a rat. The only problem was that Casey couldn’t quite put his finger on who the rat could be, but he was absolutely certain whoever it was was on their side.

He went upstairs, told Riah to keep Ellie occupied while they took the woman’s husband to Crystal Towers. His wife didn’t ask questions, thankfully. Casey and the others waited until Riah persuaded Ellie to go out with her before they left themselves. 

Casey would have bet money it would go spectacularly wrong. The first sign he might well be right was Woodcomb losing it. Bartowski went in after him. Thankfully, Chuck managed to handle himself and his brother-in-law. 

And then Casey and Walker were locked down in the van while Beckman told them to stand down. 

 

\------X------

 

Mariah took Victoria with her when she went into the courtyard. John had explained what was going on before telling her he wanted her to keep Ellie occupied so she wouldn’t see them take Devon out or worry about her husband. She knocked on the Woodcomb’s door, adjusted the diaper bag over her shoulder and hoped Ellie wouldn’t think it strange that she wanted to go shopping this late with a tired baby in tow. As she waited, Mariah realized she should have seen if Morgan could watch Victoria while she used a desire to have a night out without John or the baby as her excuse.

The look Ellie gave her as she opened the door made Mariah think pity. Since Ellie had no reason to pity her, she ignored it, figured it must be something else, and told Ellie she needed to make a run to the mall, lied and said that Victoria needed a few things because she was outgrowing everything before she asked if Ellie would like to come with them.

It was true that her daughter had had a bit of a growth spurt, but Christmas had ensured Victoria might not need clothes for the next six months. Ellie didn’t know that, though. She readily agreed to go with Mariah. Luckily, Victoria slept through the shopping trip, though after a while, Mariah wished she’d fuss, if for no other reason than that Ellie’s questions about John were beginning to make her uncomfortable. Ellie had asked where John was as they left the apartment complex. Mariah’s car had been parked behind his Crown Vic, so she told Ellie he wasn’t feeling well.

Ellie didn’t ask what was wrong with him, which Mariah thought was odd but let it go.

As they walked through the mall, stopped now and then to look at things for Victoria, Mariah bought a few items to solidify the story she’d given her friend. After a while, Ellie asked how often John was sick. Puzzled, Mariah told her this was the first time of which she was aware. Ellie had studied her, concern written on her face. “I’ve noticed John’s often out most of the night,” she said.

Mariah frowned, stopped Victoria’s stroller. She hoped like hell Ellie wasn’t finally piecing things together, but it was entirely possible that Devon’s kidnapping by the Ring had made her begin figuring out not all was right with her family, that a lot of strange behavior and events centered around her brother. Mariah sought an answer that might appease her friend. “John took a second job,” she lied. She should have come up with something more convincing, though what Ellie might buy as an explanation, she couldn’t fathom.

“Babies are expensive,” Ellie agreed softly. “They also cause a lot of stress and anxiety in a marriage.”

Mariah wondered what she was getting at. “They do,” she concurred as she stared at a dress in a window. That hadn’t been her experience, but she remembered the strain on her mother’s marriage when she’d had Emma.

“John hasn’t been going out because he’s having problems adjusting to fatherhood, has he?”

As Mariah studied her friend, she realized Ellie was genuinely concerned about John, though she wondered why the other woman believed John found being a father difficult.

Ellie chewed her lip a moment. When Mariah didn’t answer her question, she added, “I noticed you were gone for several weeks just before Christmas.”

“I went to my dad’s.” As Mariah watched Ellie’s expression shift, she realized what that sounded like, especially since she had claimed she’d done that when they had their “problems” before John came to California. Thinking fast, she found a lie that wasn’t much of one since it was usually true. “We always spend Christmas together—he’s alone—and because his housekeeper takes the holidays off, I usually do the food and host parties for him.”

Skepticism was written clearly all over Ellie’s face. Mariah wondered why the other woman obviously wasn’t willing to believe that. Apparently, she needed to work on her lies. 

“And what does your dad do, exactly?” 

It was obvious the other woman was fishing, so Mariah moved on, wondered how to distract her while she decided which of her dad’s covers to use. She finally chose the one he’d used with his own parents: “He heads up R & D for an electronics firm in Canada.”

“So why did you stay here last year?” Ellie asked. Mariah’s heart sank when she puzzled that out. She should have thought of the fact that she’d been firmly in Echo Park the Christmas before.

“Listen, Ellie,” she started, not at all sure what she would tell the other woman. Then she remembered the lie she had used to cover John’s lengthy absence. “John was back on active duty,” she began before tacking on something that wasn’t entirely true, “and Dad had a new girlfriend I didn’t like, so I decided to stay here instead.”

To her mixed gratitude and distaste, Ellie seized on her father’s love life. Mariah was able to be almost completely honest about the rate with which her father ran through women, about the fact that as he got older, they got younger, and how that made Mariah feel. Still, she was relieved when John’s text gave her the all-clear to return home. 

 

\-------X-------

 

Casey eyed Daniel Shaw and wondered who in hell that bastard was. He’d never read his name in a report, never heard him mentioned in a briefing, never even heard a word of gossip about him. Now here he was, some reputed Ring expert, but he looked as wet behind the ears as Bartowski. 

What galled him most was realizing he would have to answer to the jumped-up little pissant since Beckman was putting the idiot in charge of Casey’s assignment.

The worst part had been Shaw’s nonsense about not liking guns, particularly when the jackass proved he was very good with them when he killed Prince. Still, Casey wished the little prick had given him a chance to plug him when Casey provided Walker cover so she could go try and save Bartowski again.

When he finally got home, Riah was waiting for him. “What did you do to Ellie?” she asked.

He gave her question serious consideration, but he couldn’t think of anything that might have recently pissed the female Bartowski off. “Nothing. Why?”

His wife shrugged. “She asked a lot of questions about you, none of which made any real sense.” Riah waited for him to reach down the scotch bottle. “She seemed to be hinting at something, and for a little while, I thought she was finally piecing things together.”

As he recorked the bottle, Casey looked at her, lifted a brow. “She come very close?”

Riah shook her head, leaned back against the counter. “She just kept asking about your health.”

Carefully considering that, Casey sipped his scotch. When he could come up with no explanation for that, he offered, “Maybe her brother or husband said something about the leg.”

Once more she shrugged, then rolled her lower lip between her teeth. Casey watched her chew at it while she thought. “No,” Riah finally said. “She’d have asked how you got shot.”

Casey was about to distract her by asking if she’d ever heard anything about Shaw, but then he remembered the very “special” agent was staying in Castle and could, potentially, be listening in. In his shoes, Casey would be.

As a result, he asked if Victoria was asleep. Riah nodded, told him she’d slept through the shopping trip she’d taken Ellie on, and after he finished his drink, rinsed his glass and put it in the dishwasher, they locked up, shut down the lights, and headed upstairs. Casey was tired, but he found a scanner, made a pass through their bedroom, but it remained clean. He didn’t trust Shaw, and the place had been empty for several hours that evening.

The next evening, he had cause to remember Riah’s comments about Ellie. Bartowski had invited them to a family housewarming. Grimes had moved in with him when Ellie and her husband moved out to a larger apartment. It complicated things in ways Bartowski living with his sister and brother-in-law hadn’t. Casey soon forgot about that, though, when Ellie snatched the bottle of wine from him and told him he’d had enough. Later, he asked Riah if she knew what that had been about since Chuck had denied knowing. She’d been as puzzled as he.

 

Casey’s suspicions about Daniel Shaw didn’t go away, and his anger ratcheted up as Shaw deliberately endangered Bartowski on that Paris mission. Of course, it really hadn’t been a Paris mission but a plane mission, and while Shaw told them Casey and Walker had babied the Intersect—infuriating Casey in the process and thrilling Bartowski—he decided to let the little bastard find out why on his own. He’d help Chuck if he could, but Casey was going to have to let Shaw play his little game and see for himself what Bartowski’s limitations were.

It could have ended so badly in so many ways, and that made Casey step back and wonder why Shaw would take such huge risks with the best intelligence asset the government had found. He nearly put the question to Beckman, who was suddenly unwilling to talk to him as freely as she had once done. Casey began to wonder if they had decided he was the liability, if he wasn’t about to be sent back to the Corps or simply retired. He thought, too, of what Riah had once said to him—that men like him weren’t usually allowed to leave, were retired, as she’d put it, with prejudice. He hadn’t been sure Shaw had the balls to do that until he watched what the other man did to Chuck on that particular job.

He could tell Riah was concerned about him, but she didn’t ask. For once, Casey wished she would, but he didn’t exactly volunteer his suspicions, at least not yet. He did, though, feel Walker out about her own feelings toward the man. By then, Casey had figured out Shaw intended to break up the team, and he wondered if Beckman would let the man do so. They were hands-down the most effective eliminators of Fulcrum and were well on their way to mastering the Ring before Shaw turned up. 

Walker hadn’t been surprised when Casey raised his suspicions, had clearly wondered some of the same things. As a result, Casey had no problem suggesting she treat Shaw as a mark, and since she and Bartowski were “only friends,” Casey made clear what he meant by that—get close, see what she could find out. He left up to her whether that would involve pillow talk or just a kind of friendship. 

It didn’t take Casey long to strike out in his own clandestine investigation. One of his buddies told him he thought Shaw had gone through Annapolis, but when Casey checked, he couldn’t find him. That said lie or alias or both. Another buddy mentioned he’d heard him give a paper at West Point, and Casey tracked that down, snorted derisively at the theoretical content that was unlikely to produce workable results in the real world. Shaw wasn’t, apparently, a hands-on spy, just an analyst. 

But that was all he could find. That evening, he decided to try Riah. As usual, he sat with her while she fed Victoria. He let her finish that, talked of generalities, before he made his approach.

“His name is Daniel Shaw,” Casey told his wife as he reached for their daughter. “Some Ring expert.” He watched Riah put her clothes back in order, considered telling her not to and suggest she put Victoria in her crib, but they still had to give their daughter a bath. “Beckman says he’s been working on the Ring for five years.”

Riah paused, her fingers on the buttons of her blouse and frowned at him. He could read her pretty well by now, so it wasn’t hard to tell she had caught what he had: none of them had heard of the Ring before Miles set out to steal the Intersect for them, and Casey found it hard to believe that neither he nor Walker had caught even a whiff of them. Larkin would have told Walker had he known, and Larkin really should have known, apparently.

“So who’s Daniel Shaw?” Riah asked softly.

Victoria squirmed, so Casey gave the baby his attention. Hard stares didn’t work on small infants, he’d learned, so he made sure she wasn’t about to wriggle right out of his arms before he looked at his wife. “That’s what Walker and I are trying to find out.”

Riah gave him a wry smile, shook her head. “I’m out of the business, John. Permanently.”

She stood, walked toward him and took Victoria.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t ask questions, gossip with, say, Ellerby.”

Before she gave that sigh, the one Casey knew meant Riah was well aware that she should run away from this but was really actually considering it, she met his eyes. After the sigh, she shook her head and walked out of their bedroom to the bathroom. He followed, got Victoria’s bath ready while she undressed her.

“Not Mona,” Riah said.

He raised a brow. 

“When she goes looking, that will raise flags,” she told him. “If Shaw has friends in other agencies, there’s a chance he’ll find out.”

Casey grunted, nodded, and tested the water temperature in Victoria’s bath. “Ideas?”

Riah shrugged, picked up their now-naked daughter. Casey took Victoria, eased her in the water, and began washing her. Riah moved so she could watch. Sometimes Casey wondered if she actually trusted him to do this. 

“I could probably see if my old ICOM codes still work.”

Victoria loved the water, so Casey took a moment to make sure she wasn’t going to try the backstroke again before he looked up at her mother. “Assuming I overlook your violation of a binding agreement with the U.S. and Canadian governments which would directly affect me, how likely is that and how long would it take?”

Riah gave him a tiny smile and shrugged. “Depends a little on whether or not your agency is still watching my online behavior.”

There was a sharp edge there. Riah hadn’t taken long to figure out the NSA was capturing her phone calls, e-mails, text messages, and other online activity. Beckman had called him and reamed him out for confirming his wife’s suspicions that she was under surveillance. Casey had been pissed off, not least because he hadn’t said a word.

“Assume they are.” She had gone over the line a time or two, but because it had ultimately benefited General Beckman, his boss had looked the other way. He doubted Beckman would do so when the object of Riah’s quest was Daniel Shaw. Casey hadn’t managed to get a good read on Beckman and how much she did or didn’t trust the other man, so until he knew, he wanted Riah to tread lightly. Then again, Beckman might not be the one they had to worry about. It was one of the reasons Casey had been very, very careful about whom he contacted to see what he could learn about Shaw.

Casey lifted their daughter out of the tub and into the waiting towel Riah held, watched as his wife wrapped Victoria in the soft, thick terry and sat on the edge of the bathtub to gently dry her.

“That makes it trickier,” Riah mused, “but I’ve picked up a few tools of the hacker trade.” She studied him. “I might manage to go undetected. ISI will be more curious than the NSA when I knock on a back door or two.” She gathered Victoria in the towel and stood. “I could just find a way to contact Dad directly, ask outright.”

“Probably not a good idea.”

She shot him one of those looks of hers, this one more puzzled than anything else. “Dad would tell me, John.”

He knew that, and what’s more, he knew V. H. would send the files, and that’s what would tip their hands. If V. H. pulled any files on Daniel Shaw or had them pulled, if the Ring had eyes in ISI—and Casey was pretty sure they did—then they would know someone was asking questions. He couldn’t shake the belief that Shaw wasn’t what he appeared, and if the man wasn’t, then Casey’s money was on Shaw having a connection to the Ring. 

Casey’s instincts were rarely wrong, and his gut told him Shaw wasn’t what he said. Those snide comments the younger man made were carefully calculated to position him against Casey while aligning himself with Bartowski, and they chafed. The man made eyes at Walker, which proved he had a pulse and was probably a heterosexual, but even that somehow felt off. Casey wanted to know who this guy was, who this expert no one had heard of was, and he especially wanted to know why Beckman had trusted the man to come into the Intersect project and take over.

It wasn’t sour grapes, he told himself as his wife dressed their daughter. It wasn’t that Casey wasn’t willing to take orders from the competent. It was that there was something simply wrong with this, and he couldn’t quite pin down what. There were lots of little clues, hints, but none of them fit coherently together. For example, when Beckman sent people in, they didn’t know Bartowski’s real name or that he was the Intersect. Shaw did.

“See what you can do,” he said, met Riah’s deep blue eyes as he took Victoria from her.

 

Several times he nearly rescinded his request. Casey waited, though, thought Riah might not be able to do it, might find herself caught, but his wife typically weighed her decisions carefully, thought her actions through before she acted on them. 

A few days later, he arrived home tired and found his wife getting dressed to go out. Casey smiled, noticed she wore his favorite dress, the red one that Bartowski had nearly had a cow over with the flame-like pattern. “What’s the occasion?”

Riah smiled at him. “You’re taking me to dinner.”

Sliding his arms around her from behind, Casey made a counteroffer. “Suppose we stay in, get naked?”

His wife leaned back into him. “Dinner. That Italian place we like. Naked can come later.”

When they had been seated, Casey looked across the table at her. “After we order,” she said softly.

As soon as the waiter was out of earshot, Riah told him, “You aren’t going to like this.”

Casey waited, decided not to say anything until she had explained. He didn’t always like how Riah did things, but he’d come to trust her decisions.

“I took Mona up on her lunch invitations,” she began. Casey got a sinking feeling. “She played with Victoria while I got access to ISI’s computer network.”

There was a split-second of panic, but then he realized that if Ellerby was willing to be silent, this was the best solution to his dilemma. Riah wouldn’t be caught hacking, and her actions were unlikely to be traced if she was accessing their encrypted systems from the inside. 

“Mona made me use my codes,” Riah continued, “which still worked but likely left a trail if anyone notices.” She eyed Casey for a few moments. “I could find no mention of Daniel Shaw, and I was quite thorough. I read through what ISI knows about the Ring, but I still couldn’t find any mention of him despite references to intel shared by the Americans in which he should have featured. You were there, and so were Sarah Walker and Charles Carmichael, but there were absolutely no references to Shaw or even any confidential source that might be Shaw.”

“So there’s nothing to share.”

Riah shook her head. “I’m sorry, but, no.” 

Certain she wasn’t telling a lie, Casey decided to enjoy a quiet night with his wife.

 

Then there was Manoosh. Casey had to admit he was taking his own frustrations out on Bartowski, but he really couldn’t help it. Besides, pointing out the parallels between him and the new moron on the block might help Chuck connect with the kid. What he hadn’t bargained on was Chuck coming on too strong instead of using that natural charm of his. Casey reconsidered whether or not the kid was really ready. He was just glad Shaw was off doing something else somewhere else and didn’t see the mess Bartowski created.

To the kid’s credit, he cleaned it up—with some help from Walker. 

It wasn’t hard to see, though, where this was headed, and no matter how hard Bartowski tried to save the other man from his inevitable fate, in the end, the kid had done what he had to. That restored Casey’s faith that Bartowski could learn to be a spy. 

Ironically, Walker wasn’t happy about that. Casey didn’t know how to make her see that with Shaw around, Bartowski needed to make use of his normally short learning curve. If he didn’t, then Shaw just might get Chuck killed. So he’d told Walker it was a good thing the kid was turning into a spy, and while Casey sympathized with her apparent view that it was that very change that was making the likeable kid they’d both first met disappear into that hardened shell they all had to grow, Casey knew that if Bartowski didn’t evolve, he’d die.

Of course, he might well die anyway.

Casey had the next day off, for which he wasn’t the least bit sorry. He wasn’t sure he could take Bartowski’s moping over having burned Manoosh, and he knew he definitely couldn’t take Walker’s moping over the kid being able to even burn his asset, so he settled in to enjoy some time with his family.

Late in the afternoon, he worked on paperwork when Riah handed him Victoria. Casey stayed where he was, sprawled on the couch with several intelligence reports, which he set aside to take his daughter. 

“Emma’s coming this weekend,” Riah announced, “and I need to do a little shopping.”

He assured her he had babysitting duty covered, listened to her instructions, and then settled Victoria on his chest and went back to what he was doing.

 

\------X-------

 

“I see John put you on the starter scotch.” Chuck whipped around when she made her observation. Mariah was a little amused that he had nearly given himself whiplash. She could tell he didn’t know what to say, so she explained, “Scotch is the mother’s milk of the spy world.”

“Do you drink it?” he asked. 

Mariah gave a brief huff of a laugh. “Only when I can’t get good bourbon—or rye.”

Chuck stared at the bottle of Johnnie Walker Black in his hand. “Starter scotch?”

“Single malt’s better but considerably more expensive. You’ll have to progress through a few more pay grades before you can afford really good scotch.” She reached for the bottle of bourbon she was there to get. Her sister was coming for a visit, and Emma loved a rum cake recipe she had adapted for bourbon. 

“So what’s the deal with martinis?” Chuck asked. 

Mariah shrugged. “Well, that would be Ian Fleming.”

He nodded. “James Bond.”

Returning his nod, she observed, “Real spies drink scotch.” Mariah studied him. “Come on,” she said, taking the scotch bottle from him and adding it to the three bottles of wine and bottle of bourbon she carried in her basket. John ought to know better than to make some kinds of suggestions to the younger man. Chuck would likely never admit it, but he had a case of hero worship when it came to her husband. 

She paid for the alcohol, including the bottle of blended scotch, and then she took Chuck to a nearby Starbucks. “Want to tell me what’s going on?” Mariah asked when they had their drinks and had taken a table that provided some distance from the other customers.

Chuck fidgeted with his coffee. “Did you ever have to burn an asset?”

Somehow, that was the last question Mariah expected. She nearly gave him a vague answer, mainly from habit, but if he was actually taking John’s advice to drink scotch, then it bothered him more than he was probably willing to admit. “Yes.” She stared at her cup of decaf, turned it between her hands a moment, and then added, “Anyone who’s been in this business long and run an asset has had to do it.”

“What happened?”

This was the first time Chuck had ever asked her about her job, she realized, but then Mariah had been kept largely isolated from any direct operational work with him. “I was in Montreal. ISI heard rumors that the old Front du libération du Québec was collecting new recruits and looking to build off what happened in the seventies.” She caught the puzzled look on his face and briefly outlined the history of Quebec’s periodic attempts to separate from the rest of Canada and of the turmoil and terrorism of the movement’s last hurrah in the seventies. “I knew someone from my days at McGill whose family was involved before and again in the resurgent movement. He considered himself Canadian first and Québécois second. He agreed to infiltrate and report out. It was dangerous because he was betraying family as well as friends, and it tore at him. He was proud to be Québécois, so he had a hard time with his choice to spy on people he loved.” 

She traced a curving line back and forth on the tabletop a moment, remembered François, his keen intelligence, his ambition to work for the Foreign Office (preferably posted to France), his sweetness. Mariah should never have asked him to do what she had. She had known he would ultimately break, but she had hoped they would get what was needed before that happened. Unfortunately, someone had recognized her, someone who knew her father and, Mariah suspected, was connected to Galina Vian’s old organization who were backing the agitators. 

“He met me at Mount Royal one afternoon to do a rather risky brush drop.” Chuck looked confused, so she explained the maneuver, the bump and exchange. “I was the one making the drop, and if I’d been thinking, we would have done a dead drop instead, but I was young and stupid, and I decided to do the flashier exchange.” Mariah didn’t look forward to explaining what happened next. “Two of the Front were there, and they moved in.”

“What happened?” Chuck asked.

Mariah thought about the bottle of bourbon in the bag at their feet, but she sighed and picked up her decaf. “I shot him. It was a clean shot, killed him instantly, and then I shot the two Front provocateurs. I retrieved the material from François and went to the exit strategy.”

Chuck stared at her in horror. “Surely, that wasn’t necessary.”

“I wish I could say there was another option, Chuck, but there wasn’t.” Mariah had spent several years rethinking that operation. There really hadn’t been. If they had taken the material, if they had taken François somewhere, it would have all been over. As her godfather had assured her on the occasions when they talked about it, she had taken the only viable option in the circumstance. Mariah had come to terms with that, but there were times when she thought about François, times when she acknowledged her culpability in dragging a young man who had no business doing what he was doing into something he would have otherwise walked away from. 

And then she had killed him.

Chuck sagged and stared out the window at the passing traffic. John had long said it was time to quit coddling Chuck, but Mariah wasn’t completely convinced that was so. “I only sent him to a bunker for the rest of his life.”

She watched him, watched the emotion flicker across his face, and Mariah hoped he didn’t lose that sense of guilt. She didn’t think she’d like Chuck if he became like the rest of them, able to do any dirty duty with barely a twinge of regret. “At least he gets to live. That’s better than the alternative.”

Those dark eyes zeroed in on her. Chuck looked angry and betrayed. “That’s what Casey came to do to me,” he said. “I’d rather be dead than spend the rest of my life under lock and key, never see my family, my friends, ever again.”

Mariah had to concede the point. “I’d give anything to have had an alternative in François’ case, Chuck, but I didn’t. I did the job. Sometimes that’s all we can do.” She reached out and took his hand. “Let me ask you this.” His eyes locked on hers. “Was what you did for the greater good? If you hadn’t burned whoever it was, would there be many people in jeopardy?” Chuck continued to stare at her. “If the answer is yes, then you made the right choice. If the answer is no or maybe, then perhaps you have a right to feel guilty.”

“I did it for my own safety,” he said faintly. “The greater good was served, but I did it because he was a threat to me, to my family.”

She really wished she could ask, but Mariah knew not to. Chuck shouldn’t even have told her as much as he had. “Then what you did was the right thing, Chuck.” She squeezed his hand and released it. “Now. I’m going to forget we had this conversation. You’re going home with your scotch. I suggest you think about just stashing it in your cupboard and spend some time with Morgan or with Ellie and Devon or with all of them.” The reminder of why he fought so hard to stay where he was would probably do him the most good, Mariah believed.

He walked with her to her car, carried the bag of alcohol. When they had put it in the cargo net in the back of her Subaru, Chuck drew out the bottle of Johnnie Walker and then closed the tailgate. Mariah smiled at him and left him there.

John was still in the living room with Victoria when she got home. He lay on the couch with his daughter asleep on his chest while he read a report. He looked over at her when she entered. Mariah carried the bag from the liquor store and the one from the grocer’s to the kitchen and set them on the counter next to the sink. She walked back to the couch and leaned down to kiss her husband. 

He must have seen something in her expression because John took her hand and pulled her to sit on the edge of the couch. “What’s up?”

She raised her brows. “Johnnie Walker Black?”

A faint color ran up under his skin. “Bartowski.”

Mariah nodded and rubbed a light hand over Victoria’s back. “I paid for his bottle,” she told him. “I also gave him some advice.”

John scowled. “He tell you what happened?”

“No, but he asked if I ever burned an asset.”

Her husband looked at her, his head tilted, interested. 

“I told him about François Rochambeau.”

It was obvious John knew the name. “That was you?”

Mariah nodded. 

He lifted his brows. “That ended the last round of Québécois separatism before it could really get started.”

“It ended a lovely young man who would never have been involved in the treason around him if I hadn’t asked him,” she said, sadly. She stroked a light finger down their daughter’s cheek. “I don’t want her in the family business, John.”

His hand cradled Victoria as he sat up. He leaned in and kissed Mariah. “Let’s not make any rash decisions, Riah.” 

Her brows shot up. “Not funny, Colonel.”

John kissed her again. “Maybe she’s genetically programmed—father, mother, grandfather—so that she’d be really good at it.”

Mariah sat back and looked at him. She sighed, tried to measure whether or not he was serious, but then she saw it, saw that he was simply trying to get her out of her funk. She asked anyway. “Do you really want her to grow up and do the things we’ve done, John?”

Her husband cradled her cheek and stroked a light thumb over her cheekbone. “No, Riah, I don’t.” When he kissed her this time, it was a kiss of comfort, and she leaned into it, felt the tears slip. Mariah hadn’t thought about François in a long time, but she could see him so clearly, could remember so well how sweet he’d been, could remember the thrill he got from doing what he did as well as his crushing guilt for betraying family and friends. “Hey,” John whispered when he lifted his hand and stroked at the tears. 

She swallowed thickly. “Sadly, Johnnie Walker Black isn’t a viable answer for this.”

He kissed her once more. “You did what you had to,” he told her. “We all do. He, ultimately, made the decision to do what he did.” John swiped her cheeks with the fingers of his free hand again. “If it helps, he was getting cold feet. You would have had to do what you did sooner or later.”

Mariah sniffed and stared at her husband. How could he possibly know that? He read the question on her face.

“I was there, Riah. François gave you the names. Who was missing from the final round up?”

“Yves Simoneau.” He gave her that look, the one that said she needed to go the next step. Mariah tilted her head. “You were Yves Simoneau?”

“CSIS borrowed me,” he said. “It was the one and only time I ever did them a favor.”

Her lips twitched. Her father intensely disliked the Canadian agency, and it sounded like her husband had that in common with his father-in-law. Mariah leaned in and kissed him. “I’m sometimes frightened by the number of times you and I seem to have been in the same places at the same times working the edges of cases.”

John gave her his enigmatic look, then spoiled it with a grin. “Just think about your father’s reaction if we had met one of those times.”

Mariah snorted. “You assume that we would have hit it off if we hadn’t been sharing living quarters.”

His mouth teased hers, and when she opened, he plundered. Before she could offer up a retort, John took her mouth again. “I think we might have, Riah.”

A shiver raced down her spine at the low, seductive tone of voice. “You notoriously had a type, John,” she reminded him softly. “I don’t fit the requirements.”

“I didn’t marry them,” he said. This time Mariah leaned in and kissed him.

As she considered putting Victoria down in the playpen across the room so she could convince her husband to get naked with her, a soft, not-quite-cry escaped Victoria. Mariah leaned away from her husband, took their daughter from him and started on the buttons of her blouse. John’s hands pushed hers aside and did it for her. He leaned back into the corner of the couch and pulled her so that she lay back against him. As Victoria nursed, she told him about her discussion with Chuck and her advice to him. He grunted approval when she finished her recitation. Mariah nearly asked what had happened, but she didn’t.

To her surprise, though, he told her, told her about Manoosh, told her where he had gone when he disappeared for a couple of days with no more notice than a brief note dropped in front of the coffeemaker. Mariah listened, and when John finished, explained where Manoosh had ended, she turned and met his eyes. Before she could say anything, though, John told her, “Several years ago I was sent to Mount Royal to kill a traitor. A redhead did it for me.”

His brows went up. She’d dyed her hair red before that mission in Montreal. Instead of confirming what he didn’t ask, Mariah simply smiled bitterly, thought fleetingly of Carina Miller and those photographs of her husband from Prague. “That why you like redheads?”

John’s snort and shake of the head was the only answer she got.

 

The next morning, Mariah had a moment of déjà vu. Ellie was on her doorstep shortly after John left for the Buy More. From the woman’s grave expression, Mariah wondered what had happened now, and her dread deepened when Ellie said, “We need to talk.”


	40. Chapter 40

“What did you tell your sister, Chuck?”

Mariah had rarely been this angry in her life, but she was damned if she was going to tolerate what Ellie had told her that morning “out of concern” for her and for Victoria. Any sympathy she had felt for Chuck because of what he’d had to do to Manoosh evaporated when she finally realized what Ellie thought. As soon as the other woman left, Mariah retrieved her car keys and Victoria’s diaper bag before she dumped their daughter with John and sought out Ellie’s brother.

Now that she stood before him on the Buy More sales floor, Chuck looked completely confused, and Mariah’s temper ratcheted up another tick. “Mariah, I—“

She could tell he had no idea what she was talking about. “Ellie came to see me an hour ago,” Mariah ground out. “She wanted me to know that there’s an Al-Anon group that meets at the Methodist church on Wednesdays and that she would go with me if I felt like I needed support.” She stepped closer and glared up at him. “So I ask again, Chuck. What did you tell your sister?”

“We had to cover for Awesome.”

It was Mariah’s turn to be confused. Ellie had come to her with a story full of vagaries about John and problems and about how difficult it could be to see such problems when one lived too close to it, how soldiers, especially, were prone to issues that only made things worse. Mariah thought the woman had finally snapped, especially when Ellie rushed on the way she did, her face tinged with pink. The penny finally dropped for Mariah when Chuck’s sister said, “Devon did what he could, but you need to help John to make sure something like this doesn’t happen again.” Well, that and having pamphlets on alcoholism shoved into her hands along with the offer to go with her to Al-Anon meetings. Now she knew why Ellie had spent so much of that shopping trip asking about John’s health: she believed Mariah had married an alcoholic, and given what Ellie had thought after the night of that ball John had dragged Mariah to, the other woman probably believed her husband was an abusive drunk.

That didn’t entirely explain why Ellie thought Chuck and Devon had been “helping” John, but Mariah was pretty sure John hadn’t willingly let her believe he was an alcoholic. That left Chuck or Devon to explain. Since Devon Woodcomb was on duty, Mariah decided to hunt down Chuck to find out exactly what the two men had told Ellie.

“Cover how, Chuck?” Mariah snapped out. He did his imitation of a landed fish, his mouth opening and closing, his eyes wide as he tried to think.

He dropped his voice. “You know about Sydney?” She nodded curtly. John had told her about Devon being mistaken for Chuck by the Ring and how they had to use him over Chuck’s objections. While they had agreed before they married that she was officially out of the business, in this case, John figured it would be in all their interests if Mariah knew so that if she saw something, if someone approached Ellie and none of the others were around, she might be able to do something. “We had to cover why Devon was gone all night when she had him snatched. He told a lie Ellie would never buy, so I kind of told her Casey had been arrested in Griffith Park for being drunk and disorderly.”

“Is that all?” Somehow Mariah doubted Ellie would have bothered to say some of the things she had if that were all. When he said nothing, she skewered Chuck with the hardest, angriest stare she could aim at him.

“Devon might have said something about Casey exposing himself,” Chuck said meekly.

She reached up and took him painfully by the ear, dragged him outside where they were unlikely to be overheard. “He’s my _husband_ , Chuck!” Mariah ground out. “Ellie’s my friend. What the _hell_ do you think your sister is going to do the first time we socialize and John takes a drink?”

Chuck’s shoulders hunched defensively. “I didn’t think—“

“No, Chuck, you didn’t. Is this how you repay John? Me?” Mariah growled in frustration, and Chuck looked at her oddly. “What do you think she’s going to do the next time I have to leave Victoria with him?”

“Look, Mariah,” he began, but she was too angry to listen.

“No, _you_ look, Chuck,” she told him. “You make this right. I don’t care how you do it, but you do it. Not only that, but _you_ have to tell John.”

He went pale then. “Couldn’t you tell him?” She crossed her arms and glared at him. He sighed. “No, I guess not.” He frowned. “Mariah, I don’t think you understand what’s at stake here.”

She narrowed her eyes. She knew what was at stake, she knew all too well, and she knew it wasn’t all to do with what Ellie now thought about John. Mariah just didn’t care beyond what he and Devon had done to her husband and, by extension, to her and to their daughter. “You defamed my husband, Chuck. You may have irreparably damaged him with your sister. John has put his life at stake for you again and again and again, and you just repaid him by doing the one thing that would hurt him the most—you stained his reputation. You fix this—because he isn’t the only one harmed by it.”

“Look, I’m sorry, but—“

She cut him off. “No. You fix this, or I’ll see you live to regret it—deeply, _painfully_ regret it.” Mariah could tell he was going to object, so she played what she admitted was the petty revenge card. “I would really hate for Ellie to learn that it was you—or maybe _her_ husband—who got caught in Griffith Park without his pants,” she said with a quiet viciousness.

A stunned expression formed on Chuck’s face. “You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t try me, Chuck,” she warned. Then she baited the hook with a very plausible possibility. “I have the contacts to produce police reports to prove it, too. I dare say I could produce photographic evidence as well.”

The landed fish look was back.

“ _Fix it_." She gave him a hard stare and then turned and stalked away.

Walker let her in. Mariah found John in Castle, cleaning weapons while his daughter slept in her seat on the table next to where he had disassembled an assault rifle. He looked up, set it and the cleaning rod down, and asked, “Get what you needed done?”

Mariah didn’t answer, checked to see Victoria was still asleep, and then leaned in and kissed her husband. “Hopefully.”

He raised his brows. “Mind telling me what it had to do with Bartowski?”

She wasn’t deceived by his deceptively calm look, and she’d noticed the Buy More surveillance was on the screens at the foot of the table when she came down the stairs. It was, as Mariah had long ago learned, all in the eyes, and John’s currently held easily read suspicion. “Chuck will tell you—and if he doesn’t, I’ll be going rogue.”

John slipped his arms around her and pulled her between his knees. She rested her hands on his shoulders before bending down to kiss him again. “I’d hate to have to kill my wife for trying to eliminate the moron.”

“It won’t be for trying,” Mariah promised. “It’ll be because I did it.” John kissed her this time.

“You do remember the part about my assignment being to protect him, right?”

She let him see her anger. “I think when you find out what he’s done, you’ll look the other way when I kill him—assuming you don’t just kill him yourself.”

“Riah, I think you’d better tell me what’s going on.”

“No, John, I think you need to hear it from Chuck.” She kissed him one more time and then shouldered Victoria’s diaper bag and picked up her carrier seat. John stood, took it from her, and walked her out. Walker was polishing the counter when they entered the storefront. The other woman raised her brows at them, but said nothing.

John secured Victoria in the back seat of Mariah’s Subaru and then eyed her. “You sure you don’t want to tell me first?”

She smiled, but it wasn’t a pretty smile. “No, but when you decide to kill him, I want to watch.”

 

\-------X-------

 

Casey waited for Bartowski to spill whatever it was that had pissed Riah off. After a couple of days, he cornered the kid and said in the kind of soft, tight voice that made Bartowski practically piss himself, “What did you do to make my wife want to kill you?”

Bartowski looked like a stick of chalk. Casey wondered if the kid had ever seen real sticks of chalk as he glared Chuck into submission. He grumbled silently about the wimpy liberals who had made them take blackboards and chalk out of classrooms because kids were allergic to goddamn everything these days (probably because they lived in sanitized worlds slathered in antibacterial cleansers). He narrowed his eyes as the kid’s color ran quickly to the other extreme, and Bartowski desperately sought some way to get out of this conversation.

It tumbled out of the kid, and Casey amped up the glare, let him babble. When Bartowski finally ran out of words, he took a few minutes to find his own.

He understood completely Riah’s fury, felt it himself, mostly because Casey was going to have to disappoint her. It had become obvious Ellie was suspicious since she had suddenly taken to looking at him like he might at any moment take it into his head to rape and pillage, and it was obvious that exploding even this myth for her might bring down the rest of the lies she’d been told for her own protection. It might have been possible to correct her erroneous belief before Woodcomb pulled the obedience bullshit on his own wife, but now Casey was just going to have to live with Ellie believing him a deviant.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t take his own frustrations out on Bartowski.

“Riah’s going to have to get in line,” he said on a low, rough growl. Casey got some satisfaction from watching the kid blanch. “I get to kill you first.”

Bartowski ran. He zipped around Casey—who let him—and took off as fast as he could go. Casey gave him a fair head start then went after him. He didn’t even appreciably elevate his heart rate before he slammed the kid against the wall of the Buy More’s hallway.

He couldn’t kill him, of course, not unless he wanted to face treason charges, but he could make Bartowski squirm. He fully intended to make the kid do exactly that. After all, if he and Riah were going to have to put up with letting Ellie think what she did, her little brother could simply suffer right along with them.

“You may have mastered telling some kinds of lies, Bartowski, but you’d damned well better master some that don’t humiliate my wife.”

“It wasn’t my lie!” the kid yelped. Casey wrapped his hands around Bartowski’s throat, refused to be affected by Chuck’s wild-eyed stare. “Devon! It was Awesome!”

Casey knew he didn’t have to say a word, knew the kid would crack faster if he stayed silent because the kid couldn’t take an angry, silent grown up staring him down. Bartowski just had to fill that silence, so Casey just had to wait for it to start. Still, he leaned in, growled in the kid’s ear, “Woodcomb might have started it, Bartowski, but you finished it, and my wife is paying the price.” He squeezed, not enough to leave bruises or kill the kid but enough to make him think he might. “Teach Woodcomb to lie, or I’ll let Riah kill you the next time you do something this stupid.”

“If you let her kill me—“

“Your body will never be found.” Casey gave a connoisseur’s slow inhale. “My wife is very well trained, Bartowski. I’ve seen her work. Besides, I’ll buy her enough time to dispose of your skinny carcass so that no one ever knows what really happened to you.” He reinforced the lie with a good, hard stare, one that worked on overgrown kids even if it didn’t work on infants. “Find a way to keep Ellie from flipping out when I watch my daughter.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, simply released Bartowski and walked away.

 

To his amusement, Bartowski tried to buy his good graces by forwarding a picture Emma had sent him at Christmas. Casey looked at the image of him kissing the hell out of his wife on the church steps Christmas Eve and considered cutting the kid a little slack. Then again, that picture was vivid evidence of why fucking with his marriage was a very, very bad idea.

 

Meanwhile, Casey’s wife was mad as hell that they wouldn’t be setting the record straight, and he was once more subjected to the silent treatment. Sometimes he wished Riah was the type to simply blow, the type who yelled and screamed—threw things, even—so they could just get it over with. She did that sometimes, but when she felt especially hurt, she shut down for a while, did a sort of passive-aggressive thing that made Casey want to break things before she was finally over it.

It was the waiting for Riah to get over it that always got to him, especially this time when he agreed with her in principle despite knowing they would just have to live with it.

On the other hand, Casey thought with a smile as he took pleasure in being Bartowski’s cock-block with the new girl yet again, it had paid some very nice benefits when Riah finally got over her mad this time.

As far as Ellie Woodcomb was concerned, his wife took him to twelve-step meetings each Thursday night to deal with his problem. Either Ellie or Grimes kept Victoria for them while Riah and Casey enjoyed several hours alone in one of Beverly Hills’ more famous hotels—no interruptions from their daughter, no national security emergencies so far. It was like karma made the bad guys lay off so he could get laid without any distractions.

One of those nights when Riah was stretched out naked on top of him, Casey ran a hand over her bare skin and pointed out, “This is weirdly like having an affair.”

Riah’s smile was broad, and her eyes held a hint of mischief. “As long as you’re having it with me, I don’t mind.”

He ran his hand down to her bottom, let his other hand join it, and squeezed. She kissed him, and Casey told her, “Well, as long as my wife doesn’t find out . . . .”

“Mmm,” Riah moaned as he rolled her over and began to nibble his way down her body, “I think you should worry more about my husband finding out.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s a gun-nut,” she told him. Casey licked her nipple, made her moan, and wondered if that characterization should piss him off since he was not a nut. Enthusiast, maybe. But nut? No. Then again, he thought as he kissed her other breast, he was enthusiastic about his wife’s body, too, and he was definitely nuts about her. “He also has a short temper,” Riah added on a gasp that made him grin against her skin.

“He should meet my wife,” Casey said against her stomach.

When he looked up, Riah had lifted her head and cocked a brow. “Let me guess. She has a short temper, too?”

Casey nibbled along her hipbone. “She’s also a damned good shot.” Casey repositioned her leg. “They might have some things in common.” Then he opened his mouth over her and applied himself to making sure Riah had nothing else to say.

Neither of them talked for a good long time.

 

Unfortunately, Casey was kept fairly busy other than those Thursday nights. He’d explained to Beckman about the lie Bartowski and Woodcomb had told Ellie. His boss agreed it was necessary to allay Ellie’s suspicions, so she allowed him to be out of pocket for those hours he’d begun to look forward to each week. It was rare that he had his wife not only entirely to himself but without the likelihood they would be interrupted.

He still had his suspicions about Shaw, but those Caset kept to himself for the most part. Occasionally he and Walker spoke of their individual discoveries, and Casey waited. Shaw was playing a not-so subtle game of divide and conquer, but Casey wasn’t sure what the real endgame was—splitting up the team, cutting Casey and Walker out of the Intersect project so Shaw could move up the CIA food chain, or getting Walker. There was an endgame, Casey knew, but this would be easier to negotiate if he had a clue what it was. Shaw, so far, was playing his cards close enough to his chest to make it difficult to get a handle on what his ultimate goal was.

It didn’t help that Shaw was, strangely, a showoff. It wasn’t so much that he was stupidly flashy on the job but more that he liked the drama of the reveal. Casey supposed the other man was trying to impress Bartowski and Walker, and to a certain extent he wrote it off as inexperience or ego. Bartowski, meanwhile, sided with Shaw since Chuck obviously thought he was more valued by the other man—until it became obvious Shaw was after Walker.

Then came the moment when Casey realized that those things he thought would never come to light just might. He stood in that bar with Bartowski and the two wiseguys, one of whom he knew but had mostly forgotten. Casey considered the fact that he might have to tell his wife about one of the darker parts of his past. When he found the wiseguys dead and plugged Gruber—proving Casey really was one of the world’s best—he decided once again to leave that part of his past buried.

Unfortunately, somewhere in that mess, Bartowski broke up with Hannah, whom Casey had to admit was a sweet girl, one who would have made Bartowski a good companion—if Walker hadn’t been the better fit with the man he’d become. Of course, Casey considered his own life, considered his own secrets, and wondered if he’d be where he was if he’d made different choices years earlier.

As he usually did, though, Casey pushed those thoughts aside, went home to his wife and daughter, and appreciated the place he’d wound up.

He couldn’t, though, escape the feeling that it was going to all go wrong. Hearing that name, the name Casey thought was long behind him, come out of that wiseguy’s mouth had raised specters Casey wasn’t sure he would survive, but he hoped the fact the kid hadn’t retrieved all the data when he flashed meant no one else would, either.

Predictably, things did go wrong, just not the way he expected. Casey might have wondered why they had used Woodcomb as a decoy if he hadn’t been distracted by yet another seemingly vital catastrophe that would lead to Bartowski’s exposure.

From the moment he entered that Malibu hotel room and realized they’d been set up to get them away from Castle, Casey knew this went deeper—and he had his first confirmation that the Ring might not be behind it, that the rat responsible really was one of their own because the assignment had seemingly shifted from protecting Bartowski to protecting Shaw.

Casey figured that if Shaw wanted to be the super agent he claimed to be, he could protect his own damn self.

The incident left Casey with a lot of questions, and the events—or non-events, as it turned out—didn’t stop him from asking those questions as they shut down operations at the hotel, even though he didn’t ask them out loud. One was who else knew about Castle. Sure, enough of the enemy had figured out something was not right at the Buy More, but anyone who had figured out the rest was in a place where no one else would learn that particular secret—or was dead. Casey’s suspicions centered on Shaw, who very definitely knew all about Castle, and even when he stepped back from his own resentment at the man’s usurpation of his position, Casey still came away convinced Shaw was the reason bad things were happening to Bartowski and this particular assignment.

It was damned convenient, after all, that Bartowski wasn’t flashing because his lady-feelings interfered, especially since the kid’s panties were in a twist over Walker’s apparent preference for Shaw. That she was simply exploiting Bartowski’s infatuation with Hannah and Shaw’s apparent desire for her never occurred to Chuck. Casey had been afraid Walker might crack and tell him just to get that sad-sack look off him, but she was a pro, knew Bartowski would give them away if he knew what she was up to.

Casey, though, didn’t have the stomach to watch her work, especially not when the kid was around, so he found other things to do—but he listened.

Funny how listening helped him recognize nuances he might not if he were seeing as well. It was why he was suspicious of Shaw’s interest in Walker. He still couldn’t put his finger on it. The man said the right things, made the right moves, but there was something peculiarly off about the way he said them. Casey puzzled over that, wondered if Shaw hadn’t made Walker a mark in return, and wished he could get the guy’s story. The revelation he’d been married had come as a surprise, and when Casey had tried to dig further, he came up empty other than Eve Shaw had been murdered. That, too, was suspicious. There should have been more in the files.

When Chuck finally got through to them, told them what was happening at the Buy More and that Castle had been breached while he and Walker had chased their tails in Malibu, Casey’s thoughts shifted to planning the assault. He knew every nook and cranny of the place, so he turned his attention to how to save Chuck again, especially since the kid was vulnerable without the ability to flash.

Casey changed into his Buy More clothes and crossed to the store when they couldn’t access Castle through any other entrances. He was startled to find the door not only locked but barricaded. The store’s idiots opened fire on him with fucking toys. Casey nearly pulled his own gun despite recognizing this wasn’t the enemy—or at least not the enemy he was after. He was furious when he bit out he wanted in, which was the literal truth, and he also told the truth when he told Patel, “Because the only thing I hate more than hippie, neo-liberal fascists and anarchists, are the hypocrite, fat-cat suits they eventually grow up and become.”

God, it was so easy to get past the terminally stupid.

But their adversaries weren’t, which made it all the more galling that a high Barnes had to put down the Ring operative trying to strangle him. Casey would have managed, but he’d take the assist since it got him where he needed to be that much faster.

After it was all done, Casey stayed behind to tie up loose ends, oversee the techs Beckman sent to reset the security codes, and if he ran the surveillance back, if he saw a few things that solidified his view of Shaw, well, knowledge was, after all, power. For example, Shaw had been hell-bent on destroying Castle with Bartowski inside. That made Casey wonder why Shaw seemed so intent on not just getting rid of Chuck but seeing him dead. Shaw kept putting the kid in harm’s way, ostensibly to test and train him, but Casey began to increasingly think the other man’s aim was to actually kill Bartowski. He was pretty sure Walker wasn’t the reason, and that said Intersect. Shaw appeared to be the kind of coldly calculating agent Larkin had been, which made him the perfect candidate to replace Bartowski.

Once he arrived at that conclusion, Casey chased it, looked at what he knew about Shaw, and tested the theory.

He considered the increased targeting not of Bartowski but of Woodcomb by the Ring. He wondered if Shaw might be trying to discredit Bartowski if he couldn’t kill him. Keeping the kid emotionally off-balance made the kid useless, after all, which had been plain for the last week. If the kid wanted to credit Grimes with renewing his ability to function, Casey saw that as a good reason to keep the bearded twit out of Wit Sec, not to mention the satisfaction to be gained from watching Grimes annoy Shaw with his presence. After all, Grimes was not going to sit back and passively live vicariously through Bartowski’s spy life.

Besides, Casey didn’t like the idea of giving up his Thursday night affair with his wife, and Grimes played a vital role in enabling that.

There were still the competing claims about Shaw’s files—one of the Ring bozos claimed to have uploaded them, but Shaw had claimed he had shut down the communication so they hadn’t been able to send them on. Casey knew bullshit when he heard it, and this was grade-A prime. He wondered what Shaw gained from letting the enemy get his data, not to mention what had been in those files.

Of course, that assumed there had been files to get. Casey hadn’t seen them nor, he suspected, had Walker, who would have told him about them.

He decided he was going to share with Riah when he got home, see what she made of it all, but first Casey had a few more things to do. He took the Ring phone from the Malibu hotel out of its sound-proof box, hooked it up to see what he could learn from it, only to be startled when it rang.

For a split second he considered disconnecting it, but then Casey decided to answer it, see who it was. After all, the other side had to have known they had taken it, but the Ring wouldn’t know who might actually answer it.

When he heard a voice he had hoped never to hear again, Casey wished like hell he hadn’t answered it. For the rest of his life, he would ask himself why he had.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of explanation before you begin:
> 
> Okay, on the one hand, “Chuck vs. the Tic Tac” had me tightly focused. On the other hand, it really had me rolling my eyes. I’m normally good at suspending disbelief, but this always bugged the hell out of me. Even though I liked some of what they did with Casey after this, there were also a lot of things that seriously irritated me. The whole Alex Coburn thing just never sat well with me, and parts of it were inconsistent with things we’d previously been told about Casey. I also confess that it threw a giant monkey wrench in what I’d written. After a lot of angst and thought, I decided not to do massive rewriting—hence the AU on this.
> 
> The next few chapters give alternating points of view, too, because figuring out how to fill in all the blanks without lots of exposition gave me a headache.
> 
> Thus, you’ve been warned. If you don’t like my version of the Chuckverse from this point on, sorry. Write your own (I’d read that, by the way).

Mariah opened the door to see what seemed like half a department worth of operatives. The anonymous men in suits were clearly agents of some sort. She stared at the one who seemed in charge—or at least stood directly in front of her. He looked embarrassed, and that was really the only warning she had.

“Mrs. Casey?”

She gave a cautious nod.

“Mrs. John Casey?” he clarified.

That didn’t sound good, but they were obviously not there to do one of those “we regret to inform you” speeches. She nodded once more.

He held out ID. He was from the NSA, but most of the men ranged behind him were CIA, she saw. She couldn’t help wondering what had happened to John because something must have. “Please let us enter,” he said, but Mariah understood from his tone that he wasn’t actually asking her consent. Weighing her options, she knew she had no choice but to comply. She stepped back, watched them file inside while none looked at her directly. “If you could have a seat, ma’am,” the NSA agent ordered as he waived at John’s chair. At a loss, she sat. Sooner or later, Mariah knew, someone would explain to her what was going on.

She watched as they gathered in her kitchen around the NSA agent and had a discussion she couldn’t quite hear. After a few moments, they began to fan out, but when one of them started upstairs, Mariah stopped him. “My daughter’s asleep up there.” He ignored her and thundered on up the stairs. Not surprisingly, he woke Victoria. Mariah started for the stairs to get her but was stopped by the first agent.

“You need to stay here, ma’am,” he said.

She lifted a brow and asked, “Hear that?” Mariah waited for him to notice Victoria’s wails. “It won’t stop until I go to her.”

He gestured at a third agent who followed Mariah upstairs to the room she shared with John. They hadn’t made Victoria a room of her own yet. It was more convenient to have her in their room since she wasn’t sleeping the night through. Mariah’s mother assured her it shouldn’t be long now that Victoria was a little over four months old. Mariah was just glad her daughter only woke once in the night at this point.

After she lifted Victoria out of her crib and took her to the rocking chair where she usually fed her, Mariah noticed the CIA officer who’d followed her was still there. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” the officer said quietly, “but you can’t stay up here.”

Mariah had had a bad feeling from the moment she opened the door and admitted these men. Now, it grew worse. “May I ask why?” He looked uncomfortable, didn’t meet her eyes. When he didn’t answer, she told him, “She needs to be fed. I don’t use bottles, and I would far rather do this without an audience.” She didn’t care that he went beet-red. She didn’t care that he looked so uncomfortable she thought she could whisper boo and make him at least flinch. He stepped out into the hall and bellowed downstairs for Harris, whoever that was.

Harris, it turned out, was the agent in charge, the one who had knocked on the door. The man who had come upstairs with Mariah had a whispered conversation with him, and then Harris stepped into the room. “You are not to leave this room,” he told her curtly. “You are to touch nothing but what you need to feed your child. Understood?”

Now even more worried, Mariah nodded. She was on the edge of asking what this was all about, but he turned and left her. She suspected this would not turn out well. Something was going on, and she knew it somehow involved John.

Before Sarah Walker turned up, Mariah would have bet the presence of the other woman would make her relax. It didn’t. When she had finished feeding her daughter, Mariah changed Victoria after another argument with the man she was beginning to think of as her guard, took her child downstairs, and walked into chaos. Agent Walker appeared to be supervising the other agents’ work. That work appeared to be stripping the apartment. They were packing all John’s gear and his files. It looked like they planned to take everything. She had been here before, she reflected, but before she could protest, two other men with badges stepped forward. “Mariah Adderly?” the shorter, older one asked.

She eyed him, not amused, and ignored his question. Her name was no longer Adderly.

When she turned to ask Sarah Walker what was going on, the man grabbed her arm. “Are you Mariah Adderly?” he demanded.

“No,” she snapped. “I’m Mariah Casey.”

He held an ID in front of her face, one with his photograph and the seal of the US Immigration and Customs Enforcement agency, and she felt her heart sink. “This is for you,” he said, handing her a folded form. It looked a bit like a subpoena, she thought, but when she opened it one-handed, she found a deportation order.

It seemed she had entered the United States on forged documents in the name of Mariah Taylor. She had also, apparently, entered into a now-nullified marriage with someone named Alexander Coburn.

Mariah thrust the documents back at the man who had handed them to her. “There’s been a mistake,” she said, but she could hear a little voice in the back of her head say, _General Beckman provided you with a second set of documents in the name of Mariah Taylor. You lived and worked under that name until you married John._ She supposed that could account for that, but she had no idea who Alexander Coburn was. “I’m a U.S. citizen, and my husband is Lieutenant Colonel John Casey.”

“You are a Canadian spy,” he asserted, ignoring the papers in her outstretched hand, “and the man you married is not Lieutenant Colonel John Casey. You and your daughter are to come with us. We will escort you back to Ottawa.”

Mariah stared at him open-mouthed. “Ask Agent Walker,” she said. This was all a bad mistake. They had to have made a mistake. Her husband was definitely Lieutenant Colonel John Casey. She would make them call General Beckman or General Patterson, either of whom would vouch for John.

When Sarah Walker wouldn’t meet her eyes and suddenly found something else to do, Mariah’s heart sank even further. There was definitely something going on, and, belatedly, she realized that whatever it was, it was very bad indeed. _Alexander Coburn_. She had heard that name before, so she chased after it, shut out whatever the man was trying to say to her now so she could trace where she had heard it.

Victoria began to cry when Mariah jerked her arm away from the ICE officer. “Don’t touch me,” she ground out.

“Ma’am, I would appreciate it if you would come peaceably.”

“I need a few things,” she told him.

He shook his head. “My orders are to escort you directly to LAX. There’s a plane waiting to fly you to Ottawa.”

Mariah was definitely pissed off then. “I would like to call my husband.”

“Ma’am, he’s not your husband,” he told her.

Despite the fact he was obviously nearing the end of his patience, she narrowed her eyes, furious, and bit out, “I married him twice—once in a private ceremony and once in a very public ceremony. I assure you, both were legal, and John is my husband.”

“Ma’am, he’s not John Casey, and that means he’s not legally your husband.” He let that sink in for only a moment. “We need to leave.”

Inside, Mariah reeled. What did he mean John wasn’t who he said he was, that they weren’t married? The officer started to pull her toward the door, but she explained in succinct terms that she needed to get a few things from upstairs. She felt like a prisoner as she packed a few things for Victoria, especially when she had to hand each garment, each diaper, each item, to one of the men to examine before it was given back to her to stuff in the diaper bag they had nearly destroyed searching it. She almost asked what they were looking for, but she knew they wouldn’t tell her. She did ask if she could pack a few things of her own, gave the watching ICE officer a hard glare and dared him to call her ma’am again. She got some grim amusement out of watching him visibly bite it back before telling her she could only take the things she’d gathered for her daughter.

Chuck was downstairs when they escorted her through the living room. Mariah tried to stop and ask if he knew what was going on, but the two ICE officers hustled her and Victoria out the door and into a waiting black Suburban. She thought about berating them for not getting Victoria’s car seat, but she had a feeling she had already tried the limits of their patience. The ICE officer who had spoken to her was true to his word: she was driven straight to LAX. She was forced to surrender her real American passport at the airport. Her BlackBerry had been confiscated at the apartment.

They escorted her to a private jet, and she sighed. Mariah would just have to wait until they landed in Ottawa and demand her father tell her what was going on. She noticed the two ICE officers followed her onboard.

Mariah recognized the man waiting inside the plane for them. They all remained silent for a while. Mariah sought—and failed—to find the words to ask what was going on. As she was about to just bluntly ask, he told her, “We’ll have this discussion when we’re back in Canada, Mariah.”

For her godfather to come instead of her father meant this was serious, and for Major Jonathan Clack to ask her not to say anything until they arrived home and the Americans were on their way back meant there were things he didn’t want said in front of them. Mariah was desperate to ask, but the look on his face told her to hold her tongue.

“Where’s Dad?” she asked instead.

Clack gave her a sad look. “Tilting at windmills.”

Mariah knew not to ask again.

Hours later, when she and Victoria were inside Clack’s limo, he asked if she knew what this was about. “I hoped you could tell me,” Mariah admitted.

He rubbed his forehead, something she had frequently seen him do when her father had tried the limits of his patience. “What did they tell you?” the Major asked, so she told him what little she knew. He sighed. “Mariah, please take no offense at what I’m about to ask you.” Mariah gave him a cautious nod. “Did Casey ever give you any hint that he might not be who he claims?”

She thought back to her birthday nearly two years before, thought back to that night in Chicago. He had promised her the truth, and he had told her John Casey was truly his name. “No. Never.”

Clack reached forward, and the driver handed him a briefcase. He laid it on his lap and opened it. He handed the file he removed to Mariah.

For a long moment, she held it between them, held it like it might bite her. Mariah instinctively knew she didn’t want to open that file and read its contents, knew it would probably tell her things about her husband she didn’t want to know. “I want to talk to John.”

Clack’s face wore sympathy uncomfortably. “You can’t. He’s in a secure facility under arrest.” He stroked a cuff back and looked at his watch. “In a few hours, he’ll be on his way to a facility in Thailand where he won’t be protected by American laws against torture.”

Mariah began to shake, her breathing shallowed, and her vision blurred. This had to be a bad, bad dream. This couldn’t be real. “There’s some mistake,” she whispered.

“Sadly,” Clack told her, “there isn’t.” He patted her arm. “Read the file, Mariah.”

She still hadn’t opened it when the limo drew up in front of her apartment building. The driver came around and opened the door for her. Mariah set the file on the seat to unbuckle her daughter. She hadn’t even brought their coats, she thought, dazed, and it was freezing in Ottawa. She bundled her daughter up as well as she could and rushed toward the building door. Inside the entryway, she dug in her purse for her keys, then tried to remember if they had been taken from her or not.

Her fingers finally closed around the ring of keys, and she drew them out. She fitted the key in the inner door that kept everyone but residents out. Mariah belatedly realized she would have to go shopping and prepared a mental list: crib, more clothes for her daughter, diapers. While she had stayed with her father since she married John, that visit had been before Victoria’s birth. In fact, she had intended to sell the loft but hadn’t yet gotten around to it.

It was just as well, Mariah mused as she unlocked her door.

Scratching a car seat off her mental shopping list when she realized Major Clack carried the one that had been in his limo, Mariah hoped she could hold it together until he left her there.

She looked around. Someone had been in to clean. Her father’s doing, Mariah assumed, since she had no arrangements. Clack set the car seat by the door and then dropped the file he had brought her on the counter. “Read it, Mariah,” he ordered, “and then call me.” He kissed her cheek and let himself back out.

Mariah found many things to do, most of which didn’t actually need doing, to avoid the manila folder on her countertop. She called in a favor from an old, trusted friend of her father’s and did some shopping while Isobel Gerrard stayed with Victoria. She bought clothes and the other things her daughter needed. She ran to the grocery store for essential items, and then she returned home. It was only when the other woman was gone that it dawned on her she had left the file in the open. Mariah wondered if Mrs. Gerrard had read it.

When Victoria was fed, bathed, and asleep, Mariah puttered in the kitchen, not really hungry. She worried about her husband, but she couldn’t call him if John had really been arrested and was on his way to a place where they could torture him. She did call her father, who tersely told her he was “on it” before he hung up on her.

She couldn’t sleep—between the recent time change and the time zone changes, Mariah hadn’t adjusted to the differences. It was as it neared three in the morning Ottawa time that she finally sat at the kitchen bar and opened the folder.

As was her wont, Mariah set the photographs aside without looking at them. The dossier was an ISI one, though it seemed odd they would have had such a file on a fairly unremarkable second lieutenant in the United States Marine Corps, one who had been killed in Honduras two decades before, at that. Mariah had been nine when that happened. He had been assigned to a unit serving as “technical advisors,” though given what was going on in the area at the time, she suspected Alexander Coburn and his colleagues had actually been part of the destabilization efforts aimed at Nicaraguan President Daniel Ortega and his government.

Coburn had been buried at Arlington with full honors. Nothing else was noted except that the day after Coburn’s death John Casey joined the NSA. Mariah frowned, not at all clear why her husband’s name appeared in this Coburn’s file. Then, she realized it was a recent notation, probably added when the file was given to Clack.

When Mariah finally flipped over the photographs, she was woefully unprepared for what she saw.

At first glance, Alexander Coburn could have been a much younger John Casey. He had paler blue eyes, though, and the chin was all wrong—unless John had had plastic surgery. The hair was darker as well. The ears were similar, but on closer observation, only similar. Mariah was intimately familiar with John’s ears.

Since she learned she was pregnant, she had refrained from drinking, but now she got up, walked around the counter at which she had sat to read the dossier, and crossed to a sideboard where she kept a number of bottles and selected bourbon. Mariah poured a measure and carried it back to the stool and picked up the dossier once more. She read through it again. After all, according to the deportation order, she was married to the late Alexander Coburn, not to John Casey.

There were several things wrong with the dossier, other than those she had already noted. Mariah had worked security for Generalissimo Alejandro Goya. She was well versed in el Ángel de la Muerte lore. John had first tried to assassinate the Generalissimo six years before Coburn had been killed—a few years before Alexander Coburn, according to his records, could have entered military service at all. She had admitted that John looked younger than his age, but while he would have been old enough to have been in Costa Gravas for the attempt, it was unlikely this Coburn had miraculously made second lieutenant and been given the job of assassin just out of high school.

Then there was the fact she had met John Casey’s family. She seriously doubted Jane and his sisters had pretended to be his family as some sort of twisted validation project. Frowning, Mariah flipped back through the dossier, wondered if the information about Coburn’s family had been edited out because there was no mention of living relatives, wives, or girlfriends.

Most damning of all, in Mariah’s eyes, was that John had never lied to her—not that she knew, anyway. He had promised her that night in Chicago that she could ask anything and get an honest answer. She had asked if John Casey was his real name. He had said it was. She believed him.

She sighed and sipped the neat whiskey, reluctantly admitted that he could well have lied to her. Mariah stared at the city lights, wondered why the United States government revoked her dual citizenship. Why did they claim she and John were not legally married, that the man she married was actually this dead man? She rubbed her tired eyes. It made no damned sense at all.

Picking up one of the photographs of Alexander Coburn, she studied that oh-so-young face. He looked like a nice boy, she thought, but he also looked soft, vulnerable. John wasn’t soft. Maraih chewed her lip and picked the boy’s image apart again.

John was soft. He was soft where Victoria was concerned. That child would wind him around her fingers when she was old enough to communicate with her father. He was also a bit soft where she, Mariah, was concerned. She sipped the bourbon once more and looked at the photograph in her hand. This boy was nearly twenty-one years dead. John had said more than once he had more than twenty years in the spy business, but to have been this boy, he had exaggerated. There was no reason she could think of that explained why he had faked his death, which she assumed was the premise from which they worked—assuming he really was this Alexander Coburn as the deportation order and the transmittal memo on the dossier asserted. The NSA would have just tapped him and swallowed him into their agency.

Mariah really wanted to hear John’s version of this mess.

But that was not going to happen, not any time soon.

Her phone rang. Mariah walked over to pick up the handset. She had considered getting rid of the landline, but she hadn’t managed to get around to it, just as she hadn’t gotten around to putting the loft on the market. Now she was glad. She’d have to replace her BlackBerry if the Americans didn’t return it to her. She should probably call Mona and see if the other woman could get it back for her.

She wilted when she heard her father’s voice ask if she was okay. For the first time, the tears came. “No.” Mariah hated the wobbled in her voice. “What’s really going on, Dad?”

“Later,” he told her. Mariah found she was really getting tired of hearing that. “You got home safely?” Agreeing that she had, she was about to ask where he was, when her father said, “You read Victoria’s bedtime story I sent you?”

That drew her up short. After a second, Mariah realized he meant the dossier on Coburn. “Yes. Nice fairy tale.”

“You know what they say about fairy tales, Mariah. They sometimes contain the truth.”

Message transmitted, he told her he would call her the next day and wished her good night.

Finding a tissue, Mariah mopped up her face and blew her nose. Then she marched back to the phone and punched in John’s cell number. She wouldn’t get him, she knew, but when this was all cleared up and he had the phone back, he could call her. Mariah listened to his gruff identification, but when she got the beep for the message she hesitated. “John—“ she began, and then she ground to a halt. “God,” she said on a deep exhale, “I don’t even know what to call you.” She sought the words, but couldn’t find them. How did she ask her husband if it had all been false? How could she ask about all those promises never to lie to her? The message ended. Mariah hung up.

After a few moments of blankness, she dialed the number again. This time, Mariah clipped out, “I’m in Ottawa. They deported me. They took my American passport. Victoria and I are at my apartment.” She reeled off the landline number and explained that they had also taken her phone—which she would like returned.

When she hung up, she thought, hard. Mariah hadn’t really had a chance to before. Between shock and coping with her suddenly changed circumstances, she had been moving on autopilot. She decided to simply assume it was true, that John really was this Alexander Coburn. Working from that premise, Mariah thought she could dismiss the idea that the NSA was pissed off that he wasn’t John Casey. Given the way the agents had gone through their apartment and through their belongings, given the way she hadn’t been allowed to take anything but necessities for Victoria, she figured it was safe to assume they were looking for something. That meant John, Coburn, whoever, had taken something or had been given something. Mariah didn’t speculate what that might have been. There were numerous possibilities, after all.

Calling Agent Walker or even Chuck for an explanation was unlikely to get her anywhere. If either of them knew, they couldn’t and probably wouldn’t tell her. Mariah felt reasonably certain Walker knew, suspected Chuck did as well. John—she decided she’d just stick with the name she knew for the time being—had told her the day before that he and the others were going on a trace cell mission. Mariah was familiar with those. She suspected something had happened on that mission. She thought back, though, to the evening before that, thought about how John had been more quiet than usual. Come to think of it, he had sent her out with Mona Ellerby. Mariah had taken Victoria with her and spent several hours with the other woman at her apartment. John had been unusually distracted when she returned home.

That begged the question of what had happened that night—because Mariah was now convinced something had—and she thought there was a high probability it had led to whatever had caused John’s arrest and her deportation. She wished she could hack into the video footage from their apartment, but she was certain General Beckman had already secured it and that if Mariah tried to access it she would be unable to.

Once she rejected that idea, Mariah turned to strategizing ways to deal with the threat to her marriage. She refused to acknowledge that ICE’s claim that she and John were not legally married was true. She went to the desk along the wall next to the windows and rummaged for a notebook and pen. Mariah took them back to the counter and began making lists: lists of things she knew about John; lists of things she knew about his assignments; lists of things she knew about his family, about the family she had married into; lists of things she knew about his friends. In the end, though, she realized they were just lists; they offered no proof of anything.

Mariah decided to give up, but then she remembered Paul Patterson. She hunted through the bag she had brought with her, looked for the plain card he had given her with his telephone number. Unfortunately, it was one of those things she had left behind in Los Angeles. She Googled him, hoping to find a number, but the long list of Paul Pattersons she returned and a lack of any other knowledge than he lived somewhere in California made it impossible to identify the one she looked for—assuming he didn’t have an unlisted number or something that would keep him off the results list her search returned.

While she scanned through the list of Paul Pattersons, her e-mail pinged. Mariah opened the program only to discover an e-mail from her godfather. It was a reminder to read the file and to call him. Mariah stared at the screen a moment, but then she realized that Clack still had connections she might be able to exploit. She dialed her godfather’s private number.

Major Clack didn’t waste time on greetings, a trait that reminded her of John. “You’ve read it?” She acknowledged having done so. “I’m sorry, Mariah,” he told her. “This seems out of character for Casey, but I suppose it isn’t that surprising. He’s always put duty before all else.”

She drew in a deep breath and released it. “I want to talk to him.”

“Diane isn’t going to let that happen.

“Then I want to know what he’s accused of doing.”

“Treason, Mariah.” She felt faint. Of all the things she could have imagined, that was the very last thing of which she would have believed John capable. Her godfather sighed. “Consider yourself fortunate not to be charged alongside him. The Americans still have execution on the books for both treason and spying.”

Mariah closed her eyes. Tired. She was so very tired. “John would never commit treason, Uncle Jonathan.”

“I confess I find it hard to believe as well, Mariah, but all evidence indicates he did. According to Diane, when he was confronted, he pleaded the fifth.”

If John pled the fifth, she figured he must have been either guilty or close enough he couldn’t be honest with his boss without exposing something or someone that needed to remain hidden. She rubbed her forehead and thought hard. “It just isn’t in his character,” Mariah told her godfather. “He—he wouldn’t do that, not without a very good reason. I simply can’t believe he would betray his government, his oaths.”

“Mariah, denial in these circumstances is normal, but all evidence indicates what was in that dossier is true.”

“It proves nothing,” she insisted, but she kept silent on her reasons for doubt.

“Your faith is a credit to your husband, Mariah, but the truth of the matter is that John Casey, apparently, is not John Casey. He’s Alexander Coburn.”

“I’ve met his mother, his sisters,” Mariah protested. Even she could hear the desperate edge to her voice as she began spilling reasons. “They were named Casey. A whole family could not have died and been reborn. There are too many things about John that don’t fit with Coburn’s history. It can’t be true.”

Something inside her whispered, _Say it often enough, and you’ll believe it_. Perhaps that was the case. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking on her part.

Major Clack quietly echoed her thoughts before he continued. “All evidence indicates that John Casey and Alexander Coburn are actually the same person.”

“I want to see him. I want to talk to him.”

“The Americans have likely placed you on a no-fly list, Mariah. I doubt you could cross the border, even. He’ll be gone soon—if he isn’t already—and then he’ll be beyond your reach.”

She swallowed thickly, fought down the panic. “They’re going to kill him, aren’t they?”

One of the things she had always appreciated about Major Clack was the fact he never deliberately lied to her. Admittedly, he had occasionally omitted certain facts, but he had never outright lied to her. “I don’t know, Mariah,” he confessed at last, “but it is likely that they’ll either kill him trying to find out what they want to know or they’ll kill him for admitting he did what he’s accused of. Men like your husband seldom go to prison for this particular crime.”

Her godfather still had connections; he could still call in favors, so Mariah desperately tried to formulate her request.

Major Clack anticipated her, though. “I’m so very sorry, Mariah, but there’s nothing I can do. If the charges were anything but what they are, if the truth—assuming what we’ve been told is not the truth—were more obvious, but your husband and others have muddied the waters. We may never know what the truth really is.”

Her eyes were gritty when she hung up the phone and rubbed them with the forefinger and thumb of her right hand. Mariah thought hard about what other resources she might be able to exploit. She could return to her search for Paul Patterson, but she had a feeling she would have to call each and every possibility to find him. She sighed. Beckman would simply refuse to accept her calls. Chuck would be placed in a difficult position if Mariah called him, and her father would call her when they could safely talk—though it would likely be too late to do anything for John by then.

She had alternatives, Mariah told herself. There were identities ISI had created for her that the NSA and CIA were unlikely to know, and there were a few identities she had created herself as a failsafe. She could book a flight under one of those, travel on a Canadian passport issued under one of those names. Her father wouldn’t be amused, but it could work. Mariah thought a moment about Victoria, about whether she could risk taking her daughter with her. It might help flag her if she did so, but it might also deflect suspicion. She went to the armoire and exposed the small safe. Opening it, she looked at her collection of passports and documents that supported each identity. She finally chose Anna Markowitz, an associate professor of history at Memorial University in St. John’s, Newfoundland. It would be a simple matter to activate the protocols that would confirm her identity and affiliation with the University. She would probably have to fly to Newfoundland and leave from St. John’s for Los Angeles, though.

After more thought, she decided it would be unwise to choose an identity that tied her to a location Mariah was herself easily identified with. She flipped through the ID’s one more time. This time she selected one she had used before, Angelique Broussard, a financial analyst for a major Canadian bank. Once again, it would be simple to activate the protocols, and because Angelique lived in Quebec City and was married, travelling with a child was unlikely to raise any eyebrows. Mariah could simply fly to Quebec City and then assume Angelique’s identity, booking a flight in that name. She did exactly that.

She didn’t sleep that night, had been awake for two days. Victoria was fussier than usual when she woke slightly before dawn. Mariah sympathized. She wanted to sit down and bawl herself, but she didn’t. They caught an early morning flight to Quebec City where Mariah miraculously became a French-speaking Québécois.

When they landed in Los Angeles, the passengers were held in the plane on the tarmac. Mariah got a sinking feeling, one that was reinforced when an air marshal asked her to come with him. Her new phone was taken from her, and she and Victoria were sequestered for over two hours until a return flight to Canada could be arranged. No one spoke a word to her while she and her daughter waited, but the air marshal flew back with them. When he had escorted her off the plane in Ottawa, he handed her phone and her false passport back to her and told Mariah gently, “I don’t recommend that you try that again, Mrs. Casey. I’ve been instructed to inform you that if you try to fly into the United States again, your daughter will be turned over to family services, and you will be incarcerated.”

By then she was running on fumes. Mariah walked toward the taxi stand but was intercepted by her father, who looked absolutely furious. He steered her toward his car, and after they had left the airport, he closed the window between them and his driver and verbally chewed on Mariah for the entirety of the drive back to her apartment. He carried his granddaughter as they rode the elevator to her loft where he followed her inside. Mariah was so very tired, but she doubted she would sleep. She went through her nightly routine with her daughter, and then she returned to her living room to face her father.

Mariah might have held it together if he hadn’t given her a sympathetic look. She might even have been able to withstand more lectures on how her actions only made things worse, but that very disappointed, very sad look was her undoing. She simply burst into tears.

He held her, let her cry, but didn’t say a word. There were no words of comfort, and that spoke volumes to Mariah. He had been there. He had looked into it. He had spoken to Beckman. It was all true. She cried even harder as that sank in.

When she finally stopped, he rubbed his good hand up and down her back. “I’m so very sorry, Mariah,” he said softly. Then he began to tell her what he had learned. He told her that her husband was really Alexander Coburn and that John had admitted as much. He paused, and then he told her the rest, told her what John had done, how he had used the trace cell exercise to steal an experimental military drug for his former commander who had joined the Ring. Mariah nearly protested that John would never do that, but when she saw her father’s expression, she knew, somehow, that worse was coming. He told her why John had done it, told her about Kathleen McHugh and her daughter Alex—her husband’s twenty-year-old daughter.

Mariah’s chest seized. She thought for a moment she was having a heart attack. Her lungs didn’t work. Her husband had lied to her. He had lied about the most fundamental thing—who he was. He had loved another, apparently still loved her. Victoria had a sister old enough to be her mother. Mariah was only a little less than a decade older than John’s—Alexander’s—daughter.

She shouldn’t be that surprised, she supposed. There had, after all, been Ilsa.

A part of her wanted to rage, to throw things. Another part of her wanted to crawl into bed and sleep until it all went away. Still another part wanted to cry again, but Mariah decided she was through with the last option. Victoria meant she couldn’t exercise the second, and her daughter was again the reason she wouldn’t choose the first. That left her at a loss. Her father seemed to recognize the warring instincts within her. He told her then what else he had learned, told her about John’s escape, about Beckman setting Walker and Bartowski to find him, and about the denouement. “He’s been fired, Mariah,” he said gently. “Diane discharged him.”

_He didn’t call me_ , she thought. He hadn’t contacted her so that she wouldn’t worry. He hadn’t acknowledged her messages. She felt the blackness close in. Maybe he had decided he wanted her, not Mariah, them, not his wife and their daughter. She buried her face against her father’s chest. Oh, God. He was going to divorce her. She was never going to be allowed back in the States. John would never leave his country, and if he had truly loved this Kathleen, Mariah and Victoria had lost him.

“Don’t,” her father said gently. “He loves you.”

“He didn’t commit treason for me,” Mariah said bitterly. “He lied to me.” And that was another kind of treason, she realized.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you will soon see, I really depart from orthodoxy here.

It wasn’t supposed to end this way. He had given everything, _everything_ , to serve his country, and now he began to see exactly how much he had sacrificed—might still have to sacrifice. It wasn’t the first time he had questioned whether his personal sacrifices were worth it, but it was the first time his answer was an unequivocal no. Before Riah, before Victoria, it would have been easier to dismiss the facts, easier to dismiss Kathleen and Alex. He loved his wife, and he would give his life for her and for their daughter, which contributed to his inability to stop thinking about Kathleen and her daughter.

It might have helped if Riah hadn’t gone, hadn’t disappeared. Walker finally told Casey Riah had been deported. That pissed him off on a level that surprised him. His wife was an American citizen, and they had taken that from her because of him. She was _his wife_ , and they had taken her from him. Riah hadn’t even tried to contact him, and he didn’t know for certain where she was.

Casey missed her, especially at night. He took to sleeping in Riah’s old room, unable to face Victoria’s empty crib and their empty bed. He snorted. The bed was about the only thing they had left him besides his own clothes. Anything the government had paid for had been removed.

In his less charitable moments, he assumed they had taken his wife because they had provided her to him as well. Every time he opened the closet to get dressed, her clothes stared back at him. Gave him a cold, empty shoulder might be more appropriate, Casey supposed, eyeing his favorite of her dresses. He ought to pack them up, find a way to let Ellerby know she could come and get them, send them to Riah. Contacting Ellerby, though, would raise a red flag for whoever had been detailed to watch him, and the last thing he needed was any suspicion that he was in contact with the Canadians. He should have sent Riah’s things with V. H. Sending them, though, would have been the same as admitting it was over. Casey wasn’t certain whether it was or not, and at the moment, he couldn’t quite deal with that part of the clusterfuck.

Chuck had come over that night, the night Beckman discharged him, stripped him of his career and his rank. Bartowski had told Casey it wasn’t too late. He knew the kid had meant it wasn’t too late to establish a relationship with Alex, possibly her mother, but Casey had no intention of doing that, not now, probably not ever. There were still many things Chuck didn’t know. Even Casey had been surprised to learn that his NSA file was so incomplete, that several key pieces of information were missing, and he couldn’t help but wonder what that meant, especially since Beckman knew the truth.

For that matter, his boss had told some very interesting lies to Walker and Bartowski about Casey, about his record, about his files. The lies probably protected them all, but it infuriated him that he couldn’t set the record straight, couldn’t explain to his partner, the asset, or his wife what the actual truth was.

There had been an Alexander Coburn once. The kid had been green as grass. He was one hell of a shot, though. It was one of the few things Coburn was capable of doing without screwing up. He’d grown up in the mountains in West Virginia, had hunted from an early age. Casey had the impression the kid had done so of necessity rather than for sport. When he’d landed under Paul Patterson’s command with Casey, though, it had been left to him to break Coburn in. Casey sighed, remembered how he’d gotten the kid killed.

Coburn had never been away from home before he went to Parris Island and was then assigned to an installation. He had been to college, but that had been at the University of West Virginia near his mountain home. Casey wasn’t sure why he had tapped the kid for the Costa Gravas mission, but he had. Well, he did. Coburn was an uncanny shot, and Casey had missed several years earlier when he had gone after that commie bastard who ran the country. He had the go to try again, and Coburn, like Chuck did for spying, lusted after the idea of being special ops. Casey had decided to give the kid a taste.

He got the kid killed.

There were a lot of if-onlys Casey could trot out from that mission. It was the first and last time he had been directly responsible for the death of one of his men. Being young and stupid weren’t good excuses, though he had certainly been both of those—Coburn even more so. He hadn’t prepared the kid for what they were getting into, and he hadn’t made sure Coburn knew the basics, had, instead, assumed he did. As a result, it didn’t take long for the Costa Gravans to know there was an American Marine there. It didn’t take much longer for someone to apprehend him. Casey’s rescue attempt had resulted in Coburn catching several bullets. It had been cold comfort that he, Casey, had lived and escaped unscathed after he aborted the mission.

A year or so later, Paul Patterson had approached him. Casey was just back from his second actual try at Goya. This time he had tried a bomb but had only managed to kill the bastard’s dog.

According to Patterson, the Marines had a rogue unit they needed to contain. It was led by a Colonel James Keller. Keller was in Honduras, but he had previously worked with what remained of the Contras, who were supposedly fighting Ortega’s government. In the U. S., the trials related to the Iran-Contra scandal were still underway, though government attention was turning from the lost cause of Nicaragua to Costa Gravas. Casey wasn’t sorry. Despite his antipathy for the Marxist government of Nicaragua, he couldn’t say he admired the Contras and their appalling human rights abuses. They focused on soft targets rather than government targets and assets, and Casey often wondered if they had an entirely different agenda than the one they had sold the American government.

Costa Gravas, though, was a different story. Keller clearly was overstepping the bounds there, even for a black op. Patterson and others above him thought there was something more sinister going on. “You’ve seen _Apocalypse Now_. The Brass think Keller might be another Kurtz gone native. It happens.”

Patterson handed him a file. Coburn’s file, Casey noted. “Congratulations, Lieutenant Coburn. You’ve miraculously risen from the dead. Captain Casey died in Costa Gravas.” He went on to explain that Casey would be sent to a new base as Coburn. His skills matched the kid’s, and since he looked younger than he was, since he and Coburn could have passed for brothers if no one looked too closely, he could easily step into the dead man’s boots. When Casey had objected that he might meet someone who knew either him or the real Coburn, Patterson assured him they had carefully selected a unit to avoid that.

It wasn’t Casey’s first trip to California, but it had been a lot of years since he’d first gone to Twentynine Palms. He managed to act like the kid, for the most part. He tried not to be too skilled, too knowledgeable, but he slipped now and then. Still, it got him noticed, and it got him a slot on the alleged training mission to Honduras.

He’d been noticed outside the job, too. He’d met a pretty girl, Kathleen McHugh. She was originally from back east, and he’d fallen in love, so much so he asked her to marry him. He’d bought her a ring, one nothing like the ring he’d given Riah. Its stone was more chip than diamond, all he could afford at the time. He went home with her on leave to meet her family before he had to leave for Honduras, and he planned a trip to Niagara Falls where he intended to propose to her. He’d longed to tell her the truth, tell her that he wasn’t Alex Coburn but was really John Casey. Until this was all over, though, he couldn’t. He had told Patterson he wanted to marry her, but the General told him he was not to ask until he was finished with this particular assignment. When he admitted he’d already done so, Casey had been ordered to stall the wedding until the rest could play out.

Who knew the weird twists his life would take from there? Keller had taken note of the new kid. He had manipulated the results so that Casey—or Coburn—washed out. He had then made his pitch—the Tic Tacs, the chance to be what he really wanted to be. The irony was that Casey had found himself pretending to be himself. Keller had chosen his real identity to be his false one, shrugged away the age difference and pointed out Captain Casey had been in Costa Gravas with him, so if anyone recognized him, it could be written off as confusion, mistaken identity. Somewhere, Casey was certain, God had laughed at him. He gave him back his name and set him on the path Casey had always thought he wanted, but He had taken Kathleen away from him.

It hadn’t taken long to confirm Keller was dirty, had become more mercenary than soldier. Casey found himself playing a very dangerous game, but at the same time, he reveled in it. He reported out to Patterson about Keller’s activities at the same time he worked the black ops job Keller promised him. Before long, he was fighting with the revolutionaries trying to overthrow Goya in Costa Gravas. Casey figured he was taking a little revenge for the real Alexander Coburn—and a lot for John Casey. El Ángel de la Muerte was born.

Everything eventually came to a head, though. Keller went several steps too far beyond his orders, and the Colonel and most of his men found themselves dishonorably discharged. Many of them wound up in prison, some in Costa Gravas; quite a few wound up dead, executed by Goya. Keller disappeared, and newly starred Brigadier General Diane Beckman approached Casey about a lateral move to the NSA. She had poached him from Patterson for several jobs before, including two of the attempts on Goya. Her offer meant he would keep his rank, could continue to serve the Marines, but his primary mission would be with the little-known agency to which he had ostensibly been recruited by Keller. He had taken the job and rarely looked back.

Once in a while, though, he would see a pretty brunette who reminded him of Kathleen. On those occasions, he sometimes broke, spent the night with a bottle of scotch, the ghost of Alex Coburn, and his regrets. After the hangover, he moved forward again. As the years passed, they became less frequent, and the time eventually came when he had to look at those photo booth pictures to remember her face clearly.

He’d made a life for himself, a career, and if it was more career than life sometimes, he was comfortable with that. He had a spook shrink tell him once he was the job because he had nothing else in his life. The idiot had told his boss Casey needed hobbies and interaction with humans who weren’t connected to the job. Casey used his copy of the evaluation summary for target practice.

Casey had something else now, though. He had Riah and Victoria. Evidence indicated he had Bartowski and the assorted barnacles that came with the kid. Only he didn’t have Riah and Victoria. As the days dragged out, they didn’t come home. Riah didn’t call. Her father had come to see him, though, very shortly after Walker had taken Casey into custody.

V. H. had asked if what Beckman had told him was true. Casey was stuck. If he told the other man the truth, his father-in-law would reassure Riah. Riah, he had come to realize while he sat in his cell and waited to learn what would happen to him, was the key to his survival in this particular game. She had to be genuinely upset, had to think his defection was real, because he was certain she was being watched every bit as much as he was. If she wasn’t worried, if she wasn’t upset, the assumption would be either that their relationship had been a sham—which would possibly work for her but not for Casey—or that they were both up to something. Casey was, but he didn’t need anyone to know that. He told the lie that wasn’t completely a lie and confirmed that he was Alexander Coburn for his father-in-law. Adderly’s dark eyes went icy-cold. “You know, they’ve told my daughter you’re no longer her husband.”

Casey had frozen. “I am her husband.”

“She married John Casey, and you’re not him. From what I’ve been told, that makes Riah’s status pretty murky.”

“Riah was already an American citizen,” he protested, not realizing then what V. H. had been trying to tell him.

“I know,” Adderly said in the dark, dangerous voice that said he was angry. “They’ve taken that away from her. They’ve taken everything away from her except Victoria—her career, her American bank accounts, her American citizenship.” He paused a moment before adding, “Her husband.”

“Where is she?” Casey hated the moment of weakness that made him ask. If she was gone, she was out of it, and she had a good chance of remaining safe. It had belatedly occurred to him that she and Victoria, not Kathleen, should have been Keller’s target. That meant his former commander had somehow missed his marriage to Riah, which made no sense to Casey. Everyone seemed to know he had married and to whom. Perhaps Keller had thought it a sham, had known Riah was sent as his cover—which was possible if Keller still had people inside the NSA. Nonetheless, Casey had married her; they had a daughter together. Surely even Keller knew that was taking orders and a cover beyond reason. Regardless, Casey was worried that she—or Victoria, or both—would be a target.

“Safe,” Adderly said, “and I intend to see she stays that way.” V. H. opened his mouth to say something more, but then he apparently changed his mind. “If something happens, I’ll make sure you know, but I hope you understand if I don’t keep you posted.”

Casey nodded. It was the best he’d get from V. H., and he knew it. He wished he could explain, could tell him exactly what he was in the middle of, but he couldn’t. V. H. wouldn’t be able to stand watching his daughter’s misery; he’d tell her.

It bothered him, though, that he hadn’t heard from his wife. Because he wasn’t sure what else to do besides maintain the cover, he did exactly that, down to going out on Thursday nights so that Ellie didn’t begin asking questions. That, though, turned out to be futile. It wasn’t long before the female Bartowski came over and in typical Bartowski fashion talked her way into the apartment he’d shared with Riah. She’d come to ask after his wife, but as she looked around at the semi-empty living room and kitchen, she had put a hand on his arm and said, “I’m so sorry, John.”

“So am I,” had come sadly out of his mouth before he realized she didn’t mean she was sorry about his job.

Ellie had wrung her hands, wet her lips and offered, “I could go with you to the meetings—if you like.”

He damn near asked her what meetings, but he caught himself in time. “That’s kind of you,” he said, thinking rapidly for a way to head her off, “but I’m fine on my own.”

She chewed her lower lip. “I’m sure Chuck would go with you if you’d prefer.” Before he could respond to that, she went on, told him, “You know Mariah loves you, John, and I’m sure she’ll come back when you have this under control.”

Casey didn’t know whether to be outraged or relieved at the conclusion she’d drawn, but then he realized it didn’t matter. Riah had, essentially, left him. It mdae no difference that it wasn’t because he was a drunken exhibitionist. What mattered was that his wife and daughter were gone, and as the days dragged on, it seemed she wasn’t coming back. It also meant he had to be gone for several hours on Thursdays to keep up the illusion. He rotated bars, ironically, nursed a scotch or two, and hoped he didn’t run into Ellie again when she might smell it on him.

After a few weeks, he thought surely Beckman had lifted the deportation order. Walker wouldn’t say when he finally gave in and asked, but she had given him a look of absolute misery. He found himself giving her the other version of the talk he’d given Chuck—Bartowski was a good guy, better than Shaw, and she could win him back. He suddenly realized he didn’t want them to make the mistake he’d made, wanted them to come to the conclusion it had taken him so long to realize: family life and spy work didn’t have to be mutually exclusive. It had been surprisingly easy when it was with someone who knew the business.

He got a new phone. He considered calling Riah, but before he could screw up the courage, one afternoon Bartowski dragged him off for a private talk. Chuck told him they had taken Riah’s, and then he told him she had called Casey more than once. He handed Casey a disk. “I transferred the messages to this,” he said. “You might want to know that she flew to Los Angeles but was intercepted and escorted back to Canada.” There was more. Casey could read it in the younger man’s face. He kept his own face carefully neutral. He waited. Bartowski would tell him sooner or later. “She’s gone back to work for ISI. Beckman’s having a cow—two cows—but Adderly told her the deal was off when she had Mariah deported and your marriage nullified.”

That’s when he cracked. “What?” Casey could feel the color leach from his face. How could they invalidate the marriage? He remembered then what V. H. had told him in the cell, the part he had failed to process.

Bartowski sighed. “I don’t understand all the legalities, but apparently you weren’t who you said you were, so that made the marriage invalid.”

Casey wanted to protest that he was exactly who he claimed to be when he married Riah, but he couldn’t and he knew it. There were still several layers of deception, misdirection, and he had no authority to peel them back and expose what was underneath. By the time they parted ways, he supposed he ought to be glad Bartowski hadn’t persisted in telling him as he had every time they spoke that he should contact his daughter Alex. Casey had heard that enough, and he still believed it was kinder to her and to her mother to remain dead.

After he fortified himself with scotch that evening, Casey played the messages Chuck had retrieved for him. Riah sounded shell-shocked in the first one, so rattled, in fact, that beyond saying his name and then saying she didn’t even know what to call him, she had said nothing. The second was simply businesslike: She was in Ottawa, had been deported, had her passport taken, and would like her phone back. She had also given him her private number in Ottawa. The third, fourth, fifth, and sixth messages simply asked—begged—him to call.

And now he had another temptation.

He rubbed a hand wearily over his face. They were stuck. Casey had a sneaking suspicion that if he left the country—something Beckman had privately warned him not to do—he would find himself in legal limbo. V. H. had not been happy to have his daughter treated as she had been, but Casey had had no choice but to let the man believe he had betrayed her as well as his country. As a result, he couldn’t turn to his old friend for help. Riah and Victoria couldn’t come to him, either, apparently, so for now they had to remain apart.

Casey gave some hard thought to how his private life was so easily controlled. Keller had forced him to leave Kathleen behind, to lose that chance and to lose his older daughter. Beckman was repeating the pattern, only this time he knew the daughter he was separated from. He worried about Victoria, worried about her mother, worried they would become targets of whatever might be left of Keller’s operation. They were far more real to him than Kathleen and Alex, and as a result, he resented this more.

It wasn’t his choice. He wasn’t choosing country over family. His country was asserting its authority.

With few options, Casey brooded over more scotch, missed his wife, missed his daughter, considered calling Riah to hear her voice, so he replayed the messages several more times to keep himself from doing so. He told himself he didn’t want to wake Victoria, but the truth was he wasn’t ready to try and explain to Riah yet, especially since he had a feeling the NSA would take special interest in intercepting any calls he made, especially any calls outside the States. He wanted Riah home, wanted them both home, with every fiber of his being.

The worst day was their anniversary, their real anniversary in April, because he couldn’t call her, couldn’t see her, couldn’t even send her any damn flowers. Ellie saw him drunk that night, thanks to Bartowski, and the next morning she brought him aspirin and reassurances about his ability to rebound from this little setback.

Since contacting Riah directly was not possible, Casey set up a complex computer search that would flag anything that turned up on the Web about her. He knew it was unlikely, knew her father would probably keep her out of the public eye, but he did it anyway. Without the NSA’s resources, it was the best he could do. He had always had the power to find Kathleen, but he had chosen not to. He had considered it a test of will. He was no longer young, and perhaps he’d recently given evidence to the contrary, but he was also no longer stupid.

Ironically, his first hit was a small piece in the gossip column of a Canadian newspaper about Riah attending a charity event with her father. That was followed a few days later by a photograph of her with him at a political event. In the pieces he saw over the next two weeks, he wondered what V. H. was thinking letting her be that publicly noted. Not once was she referred to as Mariah Casey, and not once was Victoria mentioned. The piece that cut, though, was the photograph of Riah in a slinky black dress on the arm of an RCMP officer at a state dinner. The man was handsome, dark-haired, blue-eyed—Riah’s type, he knew—and clearly besotted with Casey’s wife.

Perhaps he wouldn’t have minded if she had been at the event with V. H., but the article made no mention of her father. She was, apparently, there on her own—if he ignored Dudley Do-Right. It was small consolation that she didn’t look happy, and it infuriated him that his wife had apparently decided to date.

After three days during which his fury didn’t abate, Chuck came over and bluntly asked what the hell was going on. Casey had pulled up the image, flung a hand at the screen, and walked away. He went upstairs. Chuck never ventured upstairs, so Casey knew he wouldn’t have to listen to the moron try once more to get him to chase after a woman who apparently no longer wanted him. He nearly headed into their bedroom, but he made himself go into the empty room at the end instead. He had bought paint the previous weekend, intending to do what he and Riah had talked about, paint it for Victoria. The cans sat unopened. He had moved Riah’s rocker in there, and now he took a seat in it.

Civilian, he sourly thought. He was supposed to be a civilian now. He couldn’t find out what was really going on, couldn’t call in any favors, couldn’t have her put under surveillance to find out what was going on between her and the Mountie, and he couldn’t have her taken and brought home. His second, second chance, Beckman had said. Little did she know he had had a few more of those than she might suspect. Maybe he should contact Ellerby, maybe he should see if she could get Riah and Victoria home, see if she could get him to Riah.

_Weak_ , he thought. He was weak. Casey had nearly ruined his life several times, and there had been a woman at the bottom of it each and every time.

_Paul Patterson_.

Casey stood up. Paul Patterson. He should have thought of it before. He wouldn’t be able to get on the base, and he wouldn’t be able to call him.

But Chuck could.

He nearly ran down the stairs. Bartowski still sat at Casey’s computer. “You know, Casey, despite the fact you’re sort of cyberstalking Mariah, this is a pretty slick little program you wrote to mine information.”

“I learned something from my days at Cryptocity,” he growled. For a moment, it felt like old times. “Need a favor, Bartowski.”

The younger man got the scared rabbit look he wore when he thought Casey was going to make him do something that would piss Walker off. It would likely not only piss off Walker but Shaw, too. Beckman, if she found out, and V. H., as well, for that matter. Casey went to the kitchen, picked up the pad of paper Riah used for the grocery list, and rapidly wrote a set of instructions followed by a telephone number. He ripped the sheet off and handed it to the kid with a gruff, “Pick up a few things for me before you come home from work.”

Bartowski’s eyebrows nearly shot off the top of his head as he read the message. “I can do this.”

“Great,” Casey said. “Get the hell out.”

 

The wait nearly did him in, but when Patterson was almost an hour late, Casey knocked back the last of his scotch and signaled for his tab. Either Bartowski had failed to do as he’d asked, or Patterson decided to leave him hanging. Just as his bill arrived, a man slid onto the barstool next to him. “Leaving already?”

Casey turned to look at his former commander. “You used to be punctual as hell.”

Patterson grunted a response then ordered scotch for both of them from the bartender. “I've been threatened by some of the very best Diane Beckman could send after me. She has her way, and I’m going to be put out to pasture.”

Shock jolted through Casey. He hadn’t expected the fallout from his slip to go so far afield. Riah, he supposed, was understandable, though what his wife could do that could harm the NSA or the CIA, Casey wasn’t sure. She knew things, sure, but she wasn’t the type to expose secrets or cause public trouble. He had finally figured out her deportation had more to do with keeping her safe or, possibly, punishing him than any fear Riah would do something that would have a negative impact on either of the American agencies. Still, Beckman was apparently neutralizing anyone and everything she reasonably could who might be in a position to either help Casey or disprove their theory of his crime.

He sighed. “Alexander Coburn.” That name was a curse.

Paul nodded. “God bless the green, naïve, little son of a bitch.” He drank again. He shrugged. “From Diane Beckman’s point of view, your little bit of treason got rid of two thorns in her backside.” Casey stiffened. Paul snorted. “Not you. You were always her fair-haired boy. I’m talking about your pretty little girl,” he frowned at his glass, “and that charming child of yours.” Before Casey could respond to that, Paul said, “Let’s take this somewhere a little more private.”

They went to a corner table. “You know, I turned down Diane’s job. They offered it to her when I said no. Maybe I should have taken it.”

That was news to Casey. His former commander had never said a word about the NSA approach. Casey wasn’t sure he’d be in any better position if Paul had taken the job. “You’re better off without it.”

“And it’s remarks like that which will put a target on your back.”

Casey lifted his glass. “You’re assuming there isn’t one there already.”

“I do have a few friends in interesting places,” Paul said. “Right now, you’re target-free. Keep your nose clean, and you’ll stay that way.” He leaned closer. “John, for a lot of people’s good, I need you to go along, get along, on this. Play civilian—“

“I _am_ a civilian,” he cut in, surprised by the level of the anger that surged through him.

Patterson gave him an all-too-familiar look. “Temporary, if you do this right. The Ring is floundering, John. They’re obsessed with Daniel Shaw, which is proving to be a bit of an operational distraction for them in Los Angeles, anyway, and Keller’s attempt to draw you in set you up neatly for a recruitment attempt. The plan stays the same: play coy, make no promises, give nothing away, and learn all you can. I can arrange to keep you alive on this end if you remember the rules.”

Casey lifted his glass thoughtfully, took a small sip. “I do my job. You of all people know that. This has cost me, cost me personally in ways I resent, but I will do the job. You do yours.”

The last was said with a particular bitterness that surprised Casey. He had agreed to this, had agreed to let the scenario with Keller play out. He was the one who had agreed to do what had to be done, but he had never expected Keller to hunt down Kathleen. He had worried about Riah and Victoria, and when he had been told his wife had been deported, a brief moment of relief had been quickly replaced with cold anger. He had nearly confided in V. H., had nearly told him the entire story, but, sadly, he remembered one of the psychological profiles of Adderly, the part that said his father-in-law often couldn’t make decisions to leave someone behind or cut them out of the equation, even when it was in his best interest. Casey, on the other hand, was all-too-good at that. If Riah was bereft, especially for too long, and if her father knew the truth, V. H. would tell her things weren’t what they appeared.

“Your pretty little girl may turn out to be a problem,” Paul said gravely.

Casey shot a glance at the other man. That was uncomfortably close to what he’d been thinking.

“She’s asking interesting questions in interesting quarters,” he said.

Lifting his brows, Casey asked, “What and where?”

Paul studied his scotch. “I’m not sure what all and where all, but she’s approached at least three intelligence agencies and asked for what they know about Alexander Coburn and John Casey. She’s asked for information covering a period from 1982 to 1992.”

A decade, most of which covered Casey’s early career and also covered the very brief career of Alexander Coburn. He found his greatest curiosity was why she stopped at 1992. He puzzled over that. If she was hunting something in particular, he would have thought she would be thorough, ask for it all. She had often said she preferred to work from an overabundance of data when she worked as an analyst. “Who were the three?”

“Not surprisingly, CSIS, but the other two were interesting choices: the Czechs and the Hondurans.”

The Hondurans would have little. The Czechs would have a lot—if someone connected the dots carefully and thought outside the two names. It hadn’t taken Casey long to move from Latin America to Eastern Europe during the death throes of the Soviet Bloc. He closed his eyes. Riah could muddy the waters, depending on what she was trying to do. “Are you trying to tell me she’s going to be dealt with?”

Paul shook his head and finished his scotch. “No,” he said. “We’ll let her run. I don’t think she’ll get very far, and I think her father and Major Clack will block anything that might help her figure out what’s really going on.” Paul laced the fingers of his two hands together and rested them on the tabletop in front of him. “She made a phone call.”

There was something about the General’s grave expression that told Casey this was definitely not good. “To whom?”

“Family practice attorney here in California,” Paul told him. “The lawyer’s firm does some work for us. Your girl asked about her marital status, about whether or not the government had standing to nullify her marriage. The attorney explained the law and how a marriage could be invalidated and agreed to help her pursue that.”

Casey went cold. She was going to ask for a divorce.

Paul must have read his mind again. “She won’t need to divorce you. She can claim fraud on your part since you, apparently, weren’t legally who you claimed to be. They’ll essentially give her an annulment but extend some of the same rights she would have in a divorce—property, custody of Victoria, those kinds of things.” His former commander drew in a deep breath and let it out. “She told the attorney she was more interested in figuring out how to set aside the impediments to the legitimacy of the marriage.”

He had to think that through before he understood what Paul was saying, mainly because Casey had also been running through scenarios to convince Riah not to end their marriage, to give him time, without having to explain the truth to her yet. He sagged with relief, closed his eyes, and gave thanks that she wasn’t giving up that easily. “Are you telling me to get her to stop what she’s doing or to see how it plays out?”

“It might be worth seeing what she’s really made of.”

Casey frowned, wondered what that meant.

“Your tracks have remained surprisingly well hidden. I don’t think anyone could put all the pieces together, and I don’t think she will get much cooperation if she tries. It might be a good test of how deeply someone could penetrate your record, your history, and your covers.”

“My wife as informational trace cell,” he said flatly.

Paul shrugged. “We all know we have breaches. It might show us where some are.”


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where we left Mariah: 
> 
> “Don’t,” her father said gently. “He loves you.”
> 
> “He didn’t commit treason for me,” she said bitterly. “He lied to me.” And that was another kind of treason, she realized.

Her father sighed. “He had his reasons, Mariah.”

The tiredness washed over her. “I love him,” she said quietly, and that made it all worse. She had no idea what happened now, no idea whether she would hear from him, whether she would see him again.

“I know,” her father said quietly. He held her for a while. “I still trust him, Mariah.”

Lifting her head, she searched his face. “Why?”

“Casey has integrity, Mariah. In all the years I’ve known him, this is the only time he’s done something questionable that didn’t seem necessary or somehow in the line of duty.”

There was something in his eyes. “You’ve seen him.”

He gave her a faint nod. “I wish I could say he’s fine, but he isn’t, Mariah. He gave up everything once before, and now they’ve taken everything he is away from him.” Her father let that sink in. “Give him time, sweetheart. He needs the space.”

They continued to sit on her sofa, Mariah leaning against him until dawn. She stirred, not long after the sun began to rise, and started breakfast. As she sat a plate of eggs and sausage in front of her father, she heard Victoria. When she picked up her daughter, she realized that for the first time, Victoria had slept through the night.

She was surprised her father lingered, helped her with the dishes, then suggested she go to bed while he minded his granddaughter. Mariah shook her head. She did go take a shower, admitted she felt a little better when she rejoined him. He asked her if she had given any thought to what she would do now. Mariah nearly dismissed the question, but then she paused. If she couldn’t rejoin John, if she was stuck in Canada, then she had to think about a few things. She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Her father sat forward and stared into her eyes. “This negates your deal with the Americans.”

It was true, Mariah realized. She had given up her job for John, had agreed to not work in intelligence so there was no question of conflict of interest and no potential abuse of their relationship. Mariah, though, had learned something about herself in the months since Victoria was born. She liked being home with her daughter. She didn’t have to work, could afford not to, but she no longer had her husband to share her time with. John had always made a concerted effort to fulfill his parenting responsibilities with her, and he had always made sure Mariah had some time of her own.

She knew she would be bored, though, if she didn’t find something to do. John and Victoria had filled her time, and she had friends in Los Angeles. Mariah had friends in Ottawa, but they were a different kind of friend, and Victoria would change that dynamic.

“You could come back to ISI,” her father offered. “I won’t give you a field job, though.” He went on to explain that he could use another competent analyst in ICOM. It would give Mariah something to do, and it would help him out. She was reluctant, suspected it was just a cushion while her personal life was in limbo. Then she wondered if her father knew something she didn’t, wondered if he was preparing her for the end of her marriage.

Mariah rubbed a hand over her eyes, decided she was simply too tired to think about what she might do if her marriage was truly over, but when she met her father’s eyes, she hedged. “I’ll think about it.”

He sent her to bed. While Mariah didn’t expect to sleep, she did. When she woke, she found her father gone and her mother in her living room.

Ariel hugged her, held her close; Mariah sank into her mother’s arms. To her surprise, her mother didn’t give her yet another John Casey, Bastard, rant. She simply asked if Mariah was alright. After Mariah went through it all again, her mother asked her, as her father had done, what Mariah wanted to do now.

She was tired of that question. She loved her husband. As far as she was concerned, John was her husband until he told her differently. Mariah answered her mother honestly, told her she didn’t know. That was enough for Ariel, thankfully.

Her mum told her to leave Victoria with her and to go do what she needed to. Mariah had not yet had time to find a crib, so she went shopping. She bought furniture for her daughter, bought a baby monitor system, and then went to a grocer’s once more. Her mother’s presence meant more food, so Mariah gave some thought to feeding her. As she did so, she thought about what her father had said.

By the time Mariah returned home, she decided that if after a week or so she hadn’t heard from John, she would assume the worst and would accept her father’s offer. She decided a few other things as well. Over dinner, Mariah asked her mother for the name of a good attorney, one who could be discreet, in California.

Her mother sat her fork down and stared at Mariah. “Why?”

Rather than answer, Mariah got up and once more opened her small safe and withdrew the documents she had begun accumulating. She handed her mother the deportation order. When Ariel finished reading it, she looked sharply at her daughter. “Did they give you any paperwork on the nullification of your marriage?”

Mariah shook her head.

“I’m no expert, Mariah, but while I suspect you have grounds for divorce if you want, I doubt California law gives the government the ability to nullify your marriage without either your or Casey’s consent.” She cocked her head. “May I ask why you want to talk to an attorney?”

Mariah decided to be honest. “I want to know if this is legal, first of all, and then I want to know what my rights, what Victoria’s rights, are.”

Her mother chewed her lower lip a moment. “I think you need two kinds of expertise,” she mused, “family law and immigration. You also need someone, as you note, who can be discreet. I don’t mean to sound selfish, but I would rather not have the publicity right now.” Her mother had a deal going on. Mariah understood that having it become public knowledge that her daughter had married a lying traitor was probably not good for business. “I think I know just the person,” Ariel said at last.

The next morning Mariah called the attorney her mother recommended. She liked the sound of Sheryl Ballenger. When she explained her problem and explained that she could not come to California, the woman offered to come to her. Ballenger also told her that her mother was right, that only Mariah could ask to have the marriage nullified. She explained that she could claim fraud since John had not used his real name. The attorney further explained Mariah would be given putative spouse status under California law, which meant she would have several of the same protections in terms of separation she would have had if she and John had been legally married.

Mariah stopped her there. She explained, carefully, so there would be no misunderstanding, that she didn’t want her marriage set aside.

“That’s a different matter,” she was told, and then the attorney explained Mariah would have to prove she had good reasons to remove any of the impediments to her marriage’s legality. Mariah asked what that meant. After a pause, the woman said, “Since this seems to hinge on the fraud—your husband using a name not actually his—then you would have to prove that he had legally acquired the name under which he married you.”

They made arrangements for the attorney to come to Ottawa. Mariah explained to the attorney she didn’t have any of her documents and asked if the woman would be able to get copies her marriage certificates. Her mother’s head shot up at the plural. The attorney was taken aback as well. Mariah, red-faced, watched her mother’s shocked expression as she explained that she and John had married twice, the first time on April 17 with a confidential license and again on July 4 in the public ceremony with a regular license. She gave Ballenger the names of the officiants and the locations of both ceremonies, and the attorney told her she would e-mail her some documents. Mariah would need to complete them and send them back so she could get the records.

When she hung up, her mother’s brows raised, so Mariah explained what she and John had done and why. To her surprise, her mother said nothing. Ariel gave her a look that spoke volumes, though, and, for once, that wasn’t a bad thing. “Mum, this makes no sense. John isn’t the kind of man who would do the things they say he has done. I do believe he would do anything necessary if someone he loved were in jeopardy, but I have a hard time believing General Beckman would fire her pet agent. Something’s wrong here. I’m also having trouble with the whole Alexander Coburn thing. There’s simply too much that doesn’t add up.”

“Mariah, you married a spy. Lies are part of the territory.”

She knew that had been her mother’s experience. “John made me promises, Mum, and he’s a man of his word. I believe that he didn’t lie to me. I believe he is who he claimed to be—and no,” she said when it was clear her mother was going to object “It isn’t just wishful thinking on my part.” She ran through the things she had written down when she first arrived back at her apartment.

At the end of her recitation, her mother sighed. “Mariah, I don’t doubt for a moment that that man loves you. I don’t doubt he’s been good to you and to Victoria.” She rubbed a hand over the back of her neck, a habit Mariah knew meant she was thinking through something but wasn’t quite convinced. “The truth is, Mariah, you didn’t know him that well before you married him, despite having lived for over a year with him, and don’t forget he spent a good chunk of that year away from you. He has a whole history you don’t and can’t know about because that makes you a threat. Have you asked yourself what other mines are in the field?”

Her mother had a point. This was the first time Mariah had been blindsided by something in John’s past. She had known about Ilsa coming in, and she had known about Carina. He had told her about other things, but, generally, only when it was clear she had to know. “Mum, I’m sure there’s more, and I’m sure it will hurt when it comes out, but I love him. I trust him. I find it hard to believe John’s done anything that would make me stop doing either.”

Ariel shook her head. “Do what you must, Mariah, but I think you’d be better off to just lay low. If Casey’s what you claim and not what V. H. says he is, then he’ll bear out your faith in him. If he isn’t, then we’ll be here for you.

Mariah got up and hugged her mother. “Thanks, Mum.”

They talked more. Mariah decided to take the ICOM job. She’d have to work out care for Victoria. As she explained to her mother, that was not going to be easy. She needed to know her daughter was with someone safe, and then there was the fact that she was nursing her and it was too soon to wean her. Her mother raised her brows. “There ought to be some benefits to being the boss’s daughter.”

Mariah smiled. If the job was as it was before, she would have an office of her own. She could make room for Victoria there. Maybe she could work part-time rather than full-time. She’d talk to her father.

She expected to have to negotiate with her father. He had immediately agreed she could bring Victoria to work. Mariah had been stunned into silence for a few moments. She told him she was rejoining ISI.

In the end, a retired operative, the same woman she had called on when she was deported back to Ottawa, Isobel Gerrard, was hired as Victoria’s nanny.

 

On her first day back, Mariah had a sense of déjà vu. She was processed much as any new operative would be, except that the people who provided her photo ID, her badge for when she was in the building, and all the others, recognized her and talked to her as they would any other colleague as opposed to a new employee who needed to prove herself. She was handed the operational manual before she was taken to Dave in ICOM. Dave was so happy to see her, Mariah was actually touched. She smiled at the greying bear of a man and told him she was glad to be back.

It was only a small lie. Mariah had realized what a job in ICOM could do for her.

She had made a deal with her father over Victoria. Mrs. Gerrard would bring Victoria to her at pre-scheduled times of the day for feeding. Mariah felt guilty about that, but it was a workable solution.

It wasn’t hard to get back in the groove, either. She had spent more time in ICOM than any other part of ISI, so she slotted in easily. Amanda Sears, another analyst, on the other hand, saw her as a threat. She initially tried to subvert Mariah. When that didn’t work, she made sniping remarks about nepotism. On Mariah’s third day, the younger woman whined about the files Dave insisted she shred. Mariah had nearly done a double take when she looked at the pile of files slated for shredding. John’s dossier was one of the files designated for destruction. Mariah made an instant decision. “I could do it for you.”

Amanda perked up. “Really? Thanks.” She dumped them in Mariah’s arms.

Mariah took them in her office and sat them on her desk. She separated John’s from the stack, stashed it in her desk drawer, and then turned her attention to the reports Dave asked her to analyze. After several hours of working through information about a small Caribbean nation, she found what they were looking for. She wrote her report quickly, gave it to Dave, and told him she was taking her break. When she had spent her fifteen minutes with her daughter, Mariah returned to her office and dutifully saw to the destruction of files. She didn’t feel even the slightest guilt for not sending John’s through the shredder as well, figured if they were getting rid of his paper record it was fair game.

She took it home that night after she made sure there was no security strip embedded in the dossier’s cover or documents. Mariah had found such a strip, but she knew how to remove it and did so. She stashed the file in her bag, and because she was who she was, the guard on the door waved her through rather than searched her belongings. If she were more scrupulous, Mariah would report that to her father. As it worked to her advantage, she decided to say nothing.

That night she sat on her couch with the dossier, a notebook, and a cup of tea, and she reread it carefully. When she had read it prior to going to California, she had been reading for an overview, a sense of the man with whom she would live and work. This time, she was looking for the truth about her husband. Mariah read slowly, made notes, and occasionally wondered what she thought she was doing. After all, she had violated at least three federal laws and four ISI policies to steal John’s dossier.

When she finished, she had another piece or two of the puzzle. The dates of John’s known record didn’t quite match what was in the dossier her godfather had given her. Mariah still had that file, so she matched Alexander Coburn against John Casey. After she confirmed the discrepancies she had already noted, she sighed, sat back, and rubbed a hand over her face. That had managed to get her nowhere. She would return the dossier in the morning, send it through the shredder.

But she didn’t. Mariah kept it. She wanted to think about this a little longer.

She took a day off midweek to meet with Sheryl Ballenger. Mariah didn’t want to meet the woman in her home, and a public venue was probably not a good idea, either. She had invested several years earlier in an old mill that had been chopped into loft apartments. It was quiet there, and at the moment, Mariah had only one tenant. She arranged to meet the attorney at the apartment she had furnished for herself, where she had lived before she decided she’d rather be in the city closer to ISI.

Sheryl Ballenger turned out to be about Mariah’s height and a ball of energy. She sat down with Mariah and began handing her documents, including copies of her marriage certificates and copies of the California family code. She explained about marriage nullification, told her that if John had never legally become John Casey, then they were not married. Mariah stared at copies of her marriage license applications where he had neatly written the name by which she knew him. “What if he is John Casey and not this Alexander Coburn?”

“Then the marriage is legal, and there are no grounds on which to set it aside.”

Mariah nodded, still puzzling over why John’s family would pretend to be his family if he were Alexander Coburn. Perhaps Jane was the key, she thought, and she wondered how to exploit that.

Sheryl had moved on, asked Mariah if she was certain she didn’t want to nullify the marriage. “I’m certain,” she told the older woman.

They segued to the immigration issue. Sheryl admitted it wasn’t her area of expertise, so she had consulted another attorney in her practice. Mariah was alarmed, but the woman assured her she had given no particulars beyond the fact that a woman with dual citizenship, born in Canada to an American mother and a Canadian father had been deported and told she no longer had American citizenship. Since Mariah had been convicted of no crime, nor had she been charged with one, without further information, he was at a loss as to why her citizenship would be revoked. She asked Mariah if she would like to retain him to pursue the matter.

By then, Mariah had given some thought to that. She had concluded that someone wanted her safely out of the way, and she suspected that someone might be her husband. It was also possible her father had been the one to decide she needed to watch from the sidelines. Mariah shook her head, told the woman she was only interested in the validity of the marriage at this point. The immigration matter could wait and might be supported by having her marital status sorted out. Sheryl agreed with her, so they mapped out a plan for resolving the issue. Mariah wrote the woman a check by way of retainer and to cover her travel expenses, and then they said their goodbyes.

Since she hadn’t been in the building for a while, Mariah took the opportunity to go though and inspect it. She ought to sell it, but as she walked outside along the river, she thought it might be a good place to bring Victoria when she was old enough to play outside. It was quiet here along the river, and there were extensive grounds. She could keep her tenants or move them out. Perhaps she would hire some staff and move them in with them. Then she sighed. Her home, her daughter’s home, was wherever her husband was. She doubted John would willingly live in Canada.

On Friday, her father asked if she would be his date for a charity event. He made a face when he asked, explained that he didn’t want to take a real date because he’d like to escape as soon as he could. Mariah reluctantly agreed. When he came to pick her up, he brought Mrs. Munson, his housekeeper, to care for Victoria.

When she ran into someone she knew who said something of interest to her, Mariah was glad she agreed to go. It had been a long time since she had last seen Félix de la Roca. He worked for the Honduran government these days, but she had known him as a fellow student at Memorial. They talked about their mutual friends, and then he said to her, “I heard you married.”

She nodded.

“I heard your husband was an American spy, and that he committed treason.”

Mariah saw the unwanted sympathy on his face, and then she saw an opportunity. She sighed, put her most unhappy look on her own face, and said, “They tell me he’s really someone called Alexander Coburn, though this Coburn was supposedly killed in 1989—in your country, as a matter of fact.”

He looked shocked. “Surely not.”

She shrugged, and then she let herself look angry. “I’m stuck in legal limbo, Félix. I want the marriage nullified, but to do so, I have to prove the accusations true, that my husband wasn’t who he said he was when we were married. I wish there was some way to prove he isn’t John Casey and is this Alexander Coburn.”

They moved on to other topics, and after Mariah looked at pictures of his children and wife, who was not in attendance, and showed him a photograph of Victoria, she sighed, looked sad, and the next thing she knew, Félix offered to see if he could find anything that might help her. She wrote her telephone numbers out for him—she had finally replaced her BlackBerry. To her surprise, a few days later, he called and asked if Mariah could join him for lunch. Over some rather excellent pasta, Félix passed her a CD that contained files on her husband and on Alexander Coburn.

Not long afterward, Mariah went with her father to a political event. Her father hated those, hated having to mingle with what he termed mindless, amoral politicians. Mariah smiled and chatted to people while her father worked the room, schmoozed politicians who would soon set ISI’s budget.

Once again, Mariah got a golden opportunity. She knew John had been in Prague, but she wasn’t clear on the dates. The Czech commerce attaché struck up a conversation with her. She had met the man several times before. He and her father were old adversaries who had become good friends, and like many commerce agents, he was really a spy. He commiserated with her over her husband, and while Mariah was getting really tired of that, she seized the opportunity to play the wronged woman and got a promise of information. Two days later, Mariah went to a dead drop and retrieved a rather thick file on her husband.

At her father’s request, Mariah attended another gala with a distant cousin who was a member of the RCMP. If she hadn’t remembered what an ass the man was, she might have been happier to have him as an escort, especially since she met an old friend who was well placed in CSIS. This time, Mariah made the direct approach: her husband, the bastard, had left her hanging when he committed treason. The Americans were willing to let him just become a civilian, probably because he knew too many of their secrets. She needed grounds to divorce him, so Mariah needed to definitively prove John Casey was Alexander Coburn. She knew her audience, but, more importantly, Mariah knew the other woman intensely disliked John. The other woman agreed to see what she might be able to provide in support. She delivered in an encrypted e-mail two weeks later.

To stay in shape, Mariah had taken to going for a run early in the morning. After Mrs. Gerrard arrived and before she had to begin getting ready for work, Mariah ran along the streets of her neighborhood. Many countries, particularly those in Latin America, had embassies nearby. She ran past the Costa Gravan embassy each morning. Her route varied, but at some point she always passed the Costa Gravan gates. One morning she was joined by Captain Antonio Suarez. She smiled at him, greeted him when he came out of the gate dressed for running. “You come by every morning,” he noted.

“I live nearby.”

“So el Ángel de la Muerte is close?”

“No.” Mariah was relieved to not hear a note of panic in the man’s voice. “He’s in California—I think.”

Suarez put his hand on her forearm and stopped her. “I heard you went back to ISI.” Mariah confirmed that. “Then why is the Colonel not here?”

She turned to him, then gave him an expurgated version of the truth. When she finished, Suarez looked shocked. “That cannot be true. The Generalissimo will not be happy to learn this.”

Mariah tilted her head. “Is the Generalissimo here in Ottawa?” Her mind raced at the possibilities, so she considered how to play this. She knew she would have to get to Goya, and that might take some doing.

Suarez nodded.

“Can I see him?” Suarez gave her a look. Mariah blushed. “I would like to speak to him, if I may.”

Later that day, she received an invitation to a gala at the embassy. Her father, when he heard, told her not to go. By then he had discovered she was asking questions about John in several quarters, so he told her she was possibly causing real harm to her husband. Mariah had given her father an even look and said nothing. As she dressed that night, being careful not to expose too much flesh or wear anything too tight, her father arrived at her apartment. He wore a tuxedo. When Mariah let him in, he shrugged and grumbled, “If you insist on doing this, I might as well have your back.”

She had a private audience with Generalissimo Goya. Mariah answered his questions about her husband honestly before she told him she didn’t believe what she had been told, that she was looking for evidence to the contrary. Goya had stared hard at her before he told her he could not help her. He was kind, but he was firm. He told her he was saddened to know her husband had betrayed his country, that despite their differences, her husband had saved his life as many times as he had tried to take it. Mariah nearly cried when he told her she should, for the sake of her child, put her husband and his crimes behind her.

The next morning Suarez knocked on her door. She didn’t know how he got past the locked entry, but she intended to find out. He handed her a small stack of CDs and left without a word. All the intelligence Costa Gravas had gathered on John was written on the disks. Mariah, when she read it that evening, was amused to find that the level of intimate detail about her husband was incredible. Much of it was useless to anyone but an assassin but astonishing nonetheless. She finally realized that Costa Gravas had planned to return the favor and kill John.

There were photographs, and Mariah recognized one particular face in the included surveillance photographs. He had been killed in Costa Gravas, taken in an aborted attempt on Goya. There was no mistaking the boy’s identity, and if this was true—and she had not asked Suarez or Goya about Coburn—then he had died in Costa Gravas in 1987, not 1989, and not in Honduras.

So who had died in Honduras?

Aside from a new mystery, Mariah was getting a more complete picture of John and this Alexander Coburn from the material she gathered. She was irritated that her forays into public events had been noticed by a young reporter from one of the major newspapers. Then the gossip columns were on to her. The press interest made pursuing information on John and on Alexander Coburn more difficult.

At another government function, she met a French intelligence officer who supplied her with their dossier on John—redacted to remove references to Ilsa, she presumed. Mariah managed to get another file from the Saudis and one from the Italians, much to her surprise, and she had quietly contacted a friend with the RCMP who had given her what they had. But the two biggest shocks awaited her.

Mariah had taken to stopping at a coffee shop near ISI’s headquarters in the morning for a cup of decaf. She patiently stood in line when a familiar voice behind her asked how she had been. Mariah turned to stare at Nicholas Brocklehurst. She had last seen him at the beginning of this whole debacle across the restaurant in Washington before she boarded a plane to Los Angeles. The MI-6 agent asked if she could be a little late to work. Mariah knew no one would say anything if she was, so she nodded. They each got their coffee and walked toward a nearby park. As they strolled and sipped their coffee, Nicholas said, “You’re raising eyebrows, Mariah.”

“How so?”

“Your husband is a traitor. There are a lot of people who would like to see him dead and who have lobbied for that outcome.”

“That’s John.”

“Don’t be flippant, Mariah.” Chastened, Mariah decided to wait and see what Nicholas had to offer besides that warning. They strolled silently for a minute or so. “I’m here because my boss is worried about what might happen to you.”

She smiled. Her father had a lot of friends in the intelligence community, and one of his best was MI-6’s current M. “How is Uncle M?”

Nicholas snorted then a wry smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “You know he hates being called that.”

Ignoring that, because it was definitely true, which was why Mariah enjoyed calling the man that, she said, “I doubt he sent you to offer a friendly warning.”

Her companion put a hand in the small of her back to steer her down a different path than the one she was about to choose. “He sent me to do exactly that, Mariah. People are beginning to talk. You’ve asked at least ten agencies for information about your husband. It’s clear it isn’t official, and if you don’t stop, someone will stop you.”

Mariah thought about that. Perhaps she had moved too quickly, had been less subtle than she should have been, but she felt she was running out of time. “The NSA or the CIA has talked to your boss.”

Instead of denying it, he offered, “The former Ambassador sends his regards.”

She grinned. “Tell Sir Mark I’m honored by his kind thoughts.” Mariah liked the former British ambassador to the United States. He had sacrificed his political ambitions for what was right. “Shit,” she said softly, making the connection from Sir Mark Brydon to the likely source. Sir Mark had friends in the American’s National Security Council, and it would be just like General Diane Beckman to involve friendly outsiders.

“I don’t know all of what’s going on,” Brocklehurst said, “but the Americans would like you to go quietly, Mariah. They’ve got a game running, a very dangerous game, and whatever it is you’re doing, it’s been noticed, and it’s causing problems. I’m begging you, my boss begs you, stop now. Wait. Let whatever this is play out.”

Mariah looked at him. “It’s my life, Nicholas. It’s my daughter’s life.”

Reaching a hand out, he stopped her, turned to face her. “You think I don’t know what it’s like, Mariah, but I do. Mine’s dead. Yours is still alive, and if you want him to stay that way, you should lie low.”

She felt contrite. She had forgotten about Nicholas’s relationship with Christopher Styles, had forgotten about the debacle over Tyrgyztan. They were all still dealing with the fallout from that mess. “Alright, Nicholas,” she said, “I won’t promise I’ll stop, but I will be more discreet.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “I think we can live with that.”

Nicholas walked her to ISI, touched her shoulder and then continued on his way. Mariah stood on the walk and watched him go before finally going up the stairs and in to work. She found a tiny flash drive in her coat pocket when she went to lunch. When she opened it, she had MI-6’s files on her husband, heavily redacted in some places.

The final pieces came from yet another government function. Mindful of what Nicholas had told her, she didn’t ask anyone else about her husband. To her great surprise, though, a man sidled up to her when she went to get a club soda from the bar. “Yevgeny,” she acknowledged.

“Mariah,” he said with a charming smile. “Back at home, I see.”

She nodded.

“I have something for you,” he said in his native Russian. “I should be hurt. You didn’t come and ask us about your traitorous husband.”

Mariah set her teeth to keep from saying something she really shouldn’t. There was no love lost between her and the Russian operative. “My husband—“

“Is a traitor,” he growled. “I understand he admitted as much.”

The bartender handed her drink over. Mariah smiled her thanks and started to move away. Yevgeny grabbed her arm. “I don’t like your husband. If I ever meet him again, I will kill him. You, though, ought to know who you married.” He slipped a flash drive into her purse and walked away.

That weekend she started putting it all together. Mariah didn’t trust Yevgeny, so she took all the precautions she had been taught before she opened the drive. Score one for the NSA, she thought and savored the irony as she did so. The Soviets and then the Russians had by far the fullest dossier on her husband. That was hardly surprising since John had worked in several countries affiliated with the Soviets in both hemispheres, not to mention the Soviet Union and now Russia. She wasn’t sure how much of what Yevgeny gave her to believe, but by carefully cross checking it all with the by now considerable amount of intel she had, Mariah was able to verify a frightening amount of it. By the end of the weekend, she had built a timeline of John’s intelligence career that included Alexander Coburn. Mariah had known John had done things she really didn’t want to know. She now had more than just innuendo; she had hard facts corroborated by several intelligence agencies. She ran through the notes she made and fleshed it out further.

The most damning piece in the story she’d been given remained the killing of Alexander Coburn in Costa Gravas. Antonio Suarez had given her a phone number, so Mariah decided to call him. She had unanswered questions, and he was the one most likely to give her answers. Pay phones were harder to find these days, but she knew where there was one she could use. When she took Victoria out to the store that afternoon, Mariah stopped in the lobby of a bank and used the phone there. She was relieved to find it was a direct line. Thankfully, Suarez agreed to meet her. She did her shopping then went home through the park. He was where she had asked him to be.

She sat on the bench that touched its back to that of the one where he was seated. “Alexander Coburn,” she said softly.

“We killed him.”

For a moment Mariah sat and absorbed the stark statement. Since she trusted him, and because she needed to know but couldn’t ask outright, for the sake of clarity, she said, “I thought he died two years later in Honduras.”

Suarez sighed. “There may have been another Alexander Coburn, but we killed the one in the reports I gave you.”

It was time to get to the heart of the matter: “Were you there?”

“As was el Ángel de la Muerte.” Mariah was surprised she didn’t get whiplash from aborting the instinctive swing to look at him. “We had not yet named him thus, and he was only a Captain then, but he was there. He tried unsuccessfully to save Coburn.”

That sounded like John, minus the unsuccessful part, Mariah thought numbly. “You’re positive?”

“On my mother’s life,” he said.

Mariah stood, took hold of Victoria’s stroller, and said, “Thank you,” before she walked off, deep in thought.

 

Two days later she sent an eyes-only report to the Director General of ISI. In it she detailed what she had learned about Alexander Coburn and her conclusion that John Casey had assumed the man’s identity before pretending to die and becoming John Casey once more. There were gaps, not the least of which was why he had resumed the Casey identity if he had been trying to convince someone he was Coburn. Without information from the Americans, though, she would never be able to answer that question.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where we left Casey:  
> “Your tracks have remained surprisingly well hidden. I don’t think anyone could put all the pieces together, and I don’t think she will get much cooperation if she tries. It might be a good test of how deeply someone could penetrate your record, your history, and your covers.”
> 
> “My wife as informational trace cell,” Casey said flatly.
> 
> Paul shrugged. “We all know we have breaches. It might show us where some are.”

When they parted, Casey was no happier. At least he knew his wife wasn’t leaving him—yet. He did as Paul Patterson asked, existed, worked the Buy More job, waited to see if the Ring would make an approach. He also watched what was going on with Bartowski, but it was Shaw who continued to draw Casey’s attention.

Walker apparently couldn’t keep her legs closed when a handsome agent threw himself at her. Every time it happened, Bartowski moped, and after nearly three years of the level of intimacy being the kid’s handler had provided, Casey couldn’t completely shut off his concern for the younger man. Admittedly, Casey had encouraged Walker to treat Shaw as a mark, but he was still surprised that history appeared to be repeating itself. It had been easy to see that she was falling for Bartowski, yet it genuinely appeared that Shaw was somehow winning her over. Walker put up a good fight against Shaw’s charm, but she was losing it.

It didn’t help that Chuck was finally turning into what they had thought he needed to be. The kid was getting good, but Casey knew he’d never be able to take that last step, knew Bartowski would never be able to kill. The kid still had blindspots; Walker was the biggest one.

Casey wasn’t sure if Walker blinded Chuck to the sorts of things he would normally notice or if his own innate sensibilities, his persistent view of humanity as basically good, kept him from seeing what he needed to see. Shaw was inconsistent as hell, and Casey was surprised that someone of Bartowski’s intelligence hadn’t noticed. The man wore an Annapolis shirt, but he had written papers at West Point. It might be understandable that Bartowski hadn’t seen the disconnect, but the more damning fact was that apparently Walker hadn’t, either. Another issue Casey had with Shaw was that the younger man continually threw Bartowski into dangerous situations with no preparation, and while that could be written off as testing the Intersect’s capabilities, it was a very dangerous kind of testing, especially since the man didn’t use fail-safes. Casey had never really liked or trusted Shaw, so he grew more and more suspicious of the other man as this played out.

Suspicious was Casey’s default, though, so maybe it was just him.

One night he sat in his mostly empty apartment and cleaned the one weapon he had left. Casey dismissed the idea that treason was the ultimate felony, but consoled himself that he hadn’t exactly been convicted on that charge. He always found the task he’d taken up comforting. The familiar, automatic movements of his hands helped him focus, think. As he began to reassemble Riah’s Glock, a couple of things fell into place for him. The first was that Shaw had done a lot to separate Bartowski from his handlers, undermine them, too. Riah, he remembered, had noticed that as well. The second was that Shaw had gone after Walker, but he never seemed to seal the deal. He’d done more to entice her but hold her at arm’s length than Bartowski ever could have dreamed of doing. Of course, Bartowski had a thing for brunettes, a thing Casey could understand, but like Casey himself, the kid’s heart belonged to a blonde.

Casey also acknowledged that the Ring wasn’t going for the attractive target his superiors had made, and if this wasn’t going to work and irreparably damaged his marriage, he would never forgive Beckman or Paul Patterson. Hell, he’d never forgive himself.

There were, however, some advantages to being on the outside. When he realized Chuck was being given a red test, that Chuck really didn’t understand what he’d have to do to get his second fondest wish, Casey followed the kid. Bartowski kept coming to him for advice, so he knew. He was amused when the kid gave him the gun from Castle, but it gave him a way to do what needed to be done without anyone being the wiser. So he thanked Bartowski for his “thoughtful felony,” then Casey did the deed he knew Chuck would never be able to do—hoped like hell the man he executed for Chuck deserved it. The added bonus was the bullet would be matched to a weapon Chuck could be connected to, so there wouldn’t be any uncomfortable questions about whether or not Bartowski followed orders.

He did it not because being a real spy was Bartowski’s wet dream but because Casey couldn’t afford to provide Shaw and their superiors the opportunity to separate Chuck and Walker. He had a feeling that keeping the two in Los Angeles, and Shaw with them, was vitally important. Casey knew his partner and Bartowski well enough to know neither could let the other go. He counted on Bartowski not being able to leave Ellie behind and on Walker not being able to separate from Chuck.

That made him think of Riah again, so Casey spent an uncomfortable night with the scotch bottle.

He occupied space and did what he did best—waited, watched. Then came the night Bartowski and Grimes woke him up to yammer at him about Shaw until Casey absorbed enough caffeine to realize what they were telling him. At that point, he could either play the hand he’d been dealt and leave it to others, or Casey could interfere. He was determined to do the first, but he couldn’t stand Bartowski’s pleading, especially after it finally dawned on him that Walker was in real jeopardy and no one at the CIA would believe it. Casey felt responsible for Walker’s predicament since he’d told her to spy on Shaw. He’d sent Grimes upstairs for his suit and called in favors to set things rolling.

It figured Chuck would finally deliver proof he was capable of doing the job for real when Walker was under mortal threat. He gave the kid points for pulling his act together and doing what needed to be done despite the kid’s lingering hero worship of Shaw. Casey sent Bartowski and Walker off with a promise to take in the Ring Director. As soon as they were gone, he made sure the Director wasn’t waking up any time soon, searched the man and located a hotel key. He secured him, and then he made a phone call.

Patterson sent someone to him. Casey grimaced at the woman who stood before him. Celia was a sore spot with his wife; the reminder didn’t make him happy. She handed him a secure phone and walked away. Paul was amused by Casey’s report. At the end of it, he told him, “This isn’t the end result I wanted, but if Shaw was dirty, then there are others involved. He couldn’t have done what he did, got away with what he did, unless someone was helping smooth his way. Leverage the Director with Diane. This will be a hell of a lot easier with you back in place.”

Casey eyed Celia, several hundred feet away. “Beckman won’t trust me if you haven’t come clean with her.”

“We don’t know how far the Ring’s infiltration goes. It may be best to leave Diane out of this particular loop for the moment. From what you said, she sided primarily with Daniel Shaw.”

Casey absorbed that. “You think General Beckman’s involved?”

He heard Patterson’s sigh. “I don’t know what to think anymore. This keeps going in directions no one could have predicted. We don’t even know if the Ring is the ultimate layer, or if, like Fulcrum, it’s simply a cog in a bigger machine. Everyone’s a suspect until we know, John.”

Handing the phone back to Celia, he processed that. He didn’t think for a moment that Beckman was disloyal. The General simply wasn’t made that way. There was a reason Casey had always done well under her command, and that was due in no small part to the fact that he respected and trusted her—not just her rank.

But she had played a little fast and loose with Bartowski, he acknowledged, had conspired to keep the kid the Intersect, had opted not to save Stephen Bartowski until Casey’s team made an executive decision to do it anyway, and she had handed Chuck to Shaw. He ignored the execution order on Bartowski he had received a couple of years earlier. She had also dismissed him, fired him, and Casey would never have believed she would do that without a closer investigation than the one she had conducted. He was well aware she could have ordered him eliminated, and he supposed he ought to be glad she had been unwilling to go that additional step.

He wanted his job back, though, wanted his wife and daughter back, and if that meant a little blackmail, he would do it, especially now that he had a way to do it without having to take steps that would put a genuine target on him.

Celia said, “I thought you were fired.”

Casey grunted rather than answer. She could read that how she wished. He still trusted his wife. He trusted Paul Patterson, trusted Bartowski and Walker, trusted V. H., instinctively believed he could trust Beckman despite his doubts, but he had a healthy distrust of pretty much everyone else at this point. First Fulcrum, now the Ring. At every step, Casey had faced betrayal, and personal betrayal at that. Celia was just another question mark on his list of known associates at this point.

A part of him enjoyed the negotiation with Beckman. He had made a few attempts to get his job back on Paul Patterson’s orders. Patterson had maintained that anyone who knew Casey knew he wouldn’t roll over that easily. Casey had countered that anyone who knew him would figure him for the bonus package to sign on with Xe, formerly known as Blackwater, to work as a private contractor. Casey had had a couple of offers from Xe and their competitors, but he had simply listened to the sales pitches then declined. Keller’s example was too fresh in his mind, and Casey was certain he could go back to his real job, one way or another. He’d made a play to get on Bartowski’s Rome team, mainly because either he or Walker had to stick with the kid, and it was clear his partner wouldn’t. That had come to naught when the kid balked at taking the assignment.

So he blackmailed Beckman. She wasn’t the sort to give in to such tactics, so it was telling to Casey that she capitulated and did so with relatively few protests. He wasn’t sure what made him do it, other than he owed Bartowski—both good and bad—but he argued for Grimes’s inclusion on the team. He figured Chuck would have to deal with the bearded idiot, would get a taste for what a pain in Casey’s ass Bartowski had been.

He found the Director’s passport, added a bit more sedative to the man’s system, and took him to the airport. Casey gave a bullshit story about his buddy drinking a little too much and how they really needed to get back home—the wife, the boss, hey, you know how it goes—to the man at the gate. Eventually, they were let through and boarded.

Beckman took her revenge by putting Grimes under Casey’s tutelage. Punishment, pure and simple. He caught a lucky break, though. Before he had to do anything much to actually train Grimes, he was told to go to Europe and find the AWOL Walker and Bartowski. Casey had no intention of taking Grimes, but the manchild knew Chuck so well he was invaluable for finding Bartowski. One misadventure after another, not to mention Grimes’s annoying pretense at being a Canadian, and Casey found himself having rather uncomfortable heart to hearts with both Walker and Bartowski in a small café while they waited for Interpol to collect the Basque. He decided to let them go, but it went south, and they decided to go home with Casey.

At the airport, though, he ran into a friend of Riah’s. Walker had thought nothing of it, especially since the guy worked for MI-6, and Bartowski and Grimes were engaged in geek speak, so when Brocklehurst told him ISI wanted to hear from him, Casey was able to talk to the man without interference. When the other man walked away, Casey strolled off and made the call.

“Change of plans,” he said crisply when he rejoined the other three.

Walker’s eyes narrowed, but it was Bartowski who asked. Casey saw the eager, hungry look in the kid’s eyes, and he knew Chuck was never going to voluntarily give this up. He knew what it was like. He just hoped the kid just found a way to stay alive and managed to not sell his soul the way Casey had. There would also be a new dynamic from now on. Walker would be Chuck’s primary protection while Casey’s role would officially take on a new aspect. Of course if Walker flaked again, he’d make sure he was back on Bartowski.

“I’m stopping in Washington,” he said. Adderly had spoken to Beckman, so he had to put in an appearance. Casey hid how worried he was about what might happen in that meeting. Casey was not unhappy, though he was concerned. He sincerely hoped it was the first step in getting his family home, but he knew it could be just about anything. Riah’s father had said nothing about his daughter and granddaughter.

They separated at JFK; Casey boarded his flight to D.C. while the others headed to Los Angeles. When he didn’t have Bartowski and Grimes chattering beside him, Casey gave some careful thought to why he was being summoned to D.C. He was met at the airport, and for a moment he thought Beckman was about to have him arrested for blackmailing her.

V. H. Adderly waited with Beckman in her office. Casey couldn’t shake the feeling that was not good.

“Shaw’s body has not been found,” Beckman began.

“We’re getting chatter that he’s alive,” V. H. added. “One of my operatives believes he saw him in Geneva shortly before you and the others arrived there.”

Casey wanted to ask questions, but he kept his mouth shut. One of them would tell him why they brought him here for this, and they would likely do so more quickly if he didn’t ask. General Beckman grimaced. “Mr. Bartowski and Ms. Walker are to continue believing Shaw’s dead. I need them to drop their guards so we can flush him out if he is still alive.”

Before Casey could ask, Adderly added, “Not long before Bartowski shot him, Shaw managed to pay a visit to Gray Laurance. He also visited a number of others who worked on Intersect projects, like your former adjutant Miles.” The other man sighed. “I think he knows about Mariah, but at the moment it seems he’s intent on getting revenge for his wife. As a result, he’ll go after Walker again.”

Beckman made another sour face. “He’s also visited Stephen Bartowski.”

Casey controlled his expression. Shaw could legitimately demonstrate he was with the CIA, and while the elder Bartowski had no great love for the Company, he would comply with official requests if he believed it would help Chuck. Casey had to confess he was far more concerned about what Shaw knew about Riah than he was about Walker. His partner could usually take care of herself—though she hadn’t managed so well in Paris.

The General spoke again. “You know what needs to be done, Casey. I need you to especially pay attention to Chuck Bartowski. His father tells us there are some unforeseen side effects to the Intersect, especially since this version was never intended for his son.” She went on to detail possible mental deterioration Bartowski might experience. Casey nearly asked if Riah was subject to the same issues. He knew the answer to that, had seen the results of it in her, and he remembered his own discussion with Stephen Bartowski about his wife.

When she finished her orders, Beckman turned to look at Adderly. “Mr. Adderly and I need to discuss a different matter with you, Colonel.”

V. H. looked a little chagrined when he handed over the executive summary to a much longer report. Casey stared, flabbergasted, at the words he read on the page. His first reaction was to be horrified that someone could, after all, put this all together. His second was to be proud of his wife. Riah had managed to find the truth about him and about Alexander Coburn. When he finished reading, he shot a glance at the other two.

“Now you know one of the reasons I kept her in ICOM for so long,” Adderly said sheepishly. “She always thought it was because I wanted to keep her safe, and, I admit, that was part of it, but the reality is she’s better at this than anyone who has worked there since I’ve been employed by ISI. I’d make her department head if I thought I could convince her to take the job.”

Beckman gave Adderly an annoyed frown that shifted into one of her classic sour looks before she turned to Casey. “I would like to know, Colonel, how your wife convinced, based on the evidence in the full report, more than ten intelligence organizations to turn over their records related to you and to Alexander Coburn.”

Casey would like to know that himself. Since he didn’t know, he said nothing.

She raised a brow when he didn’t answer. “And don’t think I’m unaware of General Patterson’s involvement in all this.” He maintained his silence. When it was clear Casey had nothing to say, she sighed. “Adderly has asked for a favor, Colonel.”

He went on alert, but he did his best not to show it.

“How would you like to see your wife and daughter?” Even if he had wanted to, Casey couldn’t have stopped his reaction. Adderly grinned. “Diane says she needs you here a little longer, but I need to get back to Ottawa immediately. Give me a call when you arrive.”

When Adderly stood, Casey stood as well, shook his father-in-law’s hand. He wished he could leave with V. H. when the other man excused himself. He didn’t want to wait, didn’t much care why Beckman still needed him; all Casey could think about was Riah and Victoria.

Beckman gave him a hard stare when he resumed his seat. She told him she had promised Adderly she wouldn’t have the deportation order on his wife lifted until she and V. H. were satisfied there was no further threat to Riah or to Victoria. Casey couldn’t argue with that, and he knew he would have his hands full with Shaw and whatever the other man had planned for Walker and Bartowski. She then grilled him about Bartowski, about his mental state. He answered as best he could. She asked about Grimes, but that was harder to answer. Casey eventually told Beckman he had his uses, but Grimes could never be a full-fledged member of the team. He suspected, as he proceeded to tell her, that even Bartowski recognized that and wouldn’t want his friend to become a real spy.

“In order to keep him in line, though, Grimes has got to think he has a role. He’s unquestioningly loyal to Bartowski,” a trait Casey privately admitted he admired. “If he thinks he’s protecting Chuck, he’ll do what’s necessary, but he also thinks he needs to be involved. I think we can keep him on the periphery, and that’s the best place for him.”

She nodded grimly. They moved on to talking about Bartowski’s brother-in-law. Casey conceded the man was unreliable, cracked easily—and would do so if Woodcomb continued to be involved. He told Beckman the doctor had begun to freak out, as Chuck would put it.

“Perhaps it’s time to move Mr. Bartowski,” she sighed.

Casey was not opposed. He’d be glad to quit playing Buy More salesman. He presumed Bartowski would either be brought to D.C. or sent overseas. He doubted, however, and he told Beckman so, that the kid would willingly leave his sister behind and possibly unprotected.

“Maybe we can provide a distraction for the sister, one that will make Mr. Bartowski more willing to cut the apron strings,” Beckman mused.

They discussed several options. After having listened to the Bartowski household for nearly three years, Casey knew Ellie’s fondest wish, so he told Beckman about the fellowship Ellie coveted. He also told her Devon had talked her into joining Doctors without Borders and that the couple would leave soon for assignment in Africa. They discussed the relative merits of leveraging the fellowship as a fallback.

Eventually they circled back around to Shaw. This time Beckman was considerably more forthcoming than she had been in front of Adderly. By the time she finished, Casey left her office with an urge to get on the first flight to Los Angeles—that, or warn Walker. He would delay the first, and he had orders not to do the second. Given his precarious status, Casey wasn’t risking another dismissal. With any luck, Walker wouldn’t let her guard down, and hopefully Bartowski would keep his up.

 

Early the next morning, a courier delivered the details for his afternoon flight to Ottawa. After he made coffee, Casey called V. H. at home. A woman answered, and Casey nearly hung up. After a long pause during which he tried to place why the woman sounded familiar, he asked for V. H.

While he waited, he wondered if Riah knew her father had yet another girlfriend. Casey was all business when the other man came on the line, tersely gave him the flight number and arrival time. V. H. promised to meet him.

 

The morning meeting with Beckman was off the books. She met Casey in civilian clothes at the Jefferson Memorial. They walked, talked more about Shaw, and this time Beckman was blunt about what she thought might actually be in play with the other man. Casey wondered if he ought to call in a few more favors. They might be in the conspiracy business at times, but he really disliked how this one seemed to be shaping up. If Shaw really was on the Ring’s side and not its target, things were going to get very ugly—and downright deadly. The problem Casey had was who he could and couldn’t trust—not to mention who would trust him. Beckman finally wished him luck. Casey returned the sentiment.

When he had driven home and collected his luggage before calling a cab to take him to the airport, Casey turned his attention to other matters. He would have only two nights and one day in Ottawa with Riah. He just hoped it was enough.

On the flight, he considered how pissed off his wife might be. Riah had worked hard, played a dangerous game to unravel the truth about his past, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be angry or that she wouldn’t decide to divorce him after all. Casey hadn’t told her about any of this, and in hindsight, he admitted he had had several opportunities to not only come clean about Alex Coburn but to tell his wife about Kathleen McHugh. He had not done so, and given her father’s romantic history, Casey wasn’t entirely sure his wife would be in a very forgiving mood when he did.

Not, he admitted, that he could blame her if she wasn’t.

On the surface of it, Casey had lied to her, lied to her about the most fundamental thing: his identity. While they were in a business that often meant they lied to civilians about who and what they were, Riah had had every reason to trust he had been honest with her. He had been, had promised more than once to be so except when it came to matters of national security, and she had accepted that. While he had never dreamed this part of his past would ever surface, Casey now knew he should have made a full disclosure about it to his wife.

Casey might not have known about Alexandra, about Kathleen’s daughter, but he had nearly married the girl’s mother, had genuinely loved her.

All Riah likely knew was that he had committed treason for a woman he loved, a woman, moreover, who wasn’t her.

He rubbed his tired face. His wife, he’d learned, was capable of taking no prisoners, and he had to admit he suspected that was the woman he’d see when he arrived in Ottawa. Casey had no real idea what he was going to say to Riah that wouldn’t sound either self-serving or manipulative. This was one time when he would have to tread lightly, something he freely admitted was not his particular forte, and he would have to read her carefully to make sure he didn’t say something that would reinforce all the things she likely believed at this point. Casey suspected regaining her trust was going to be more difficult than anything he’d ever had to do before.

It was funny, he thought as he waited for the flight attendant to serve him his scotch, but Casey wasn’t sure he’d ever had a mission where the stakes were as high as they were with this visit. He loved his wife, loved his daughter, but if he got this even remotely wrong, he’d spend his life without either of them.

Which brought him right back to Kathleen and her daughter.

Instinctively, he shied away from thinking about Alexandra, and he especially tried not to think about the fact that she was his daughter as well. From the moment that wiseguy in the bar had insisted Casey looked familiar, he’d known it would unravel. If he’d been smart, he’d have gone home and told Riah about Alex Coburn then, but Gruber killed the man, and Casey had seen no reason to bring up something that would cause his wife pain. That Bartowski had flashed on the name but not Casey’s connection to it should have told him something.

Casey hadn’t realized how much pain that particular slice of his past held, though. Even if he had known about Alexandra, he still wasn’t certain he would have told Riah, wasn’t certain he wouldn’t have decided that since he had no real interest in establishing contact with the girl that she was no threat to his life or his family. Casey admitted some curiosity about her, but she was a grown woman, and it was too late to try and establish a relationship with her. He suspected it would be cruel to do so. After all, he’d begun looking forward to the day he presumed was not long coming when he’d leave Mission Moron behind. He and his family would be the width of the continent away from Kathleen and her daughter, and neither would be a risk to him.

_Keller_ , he thought, made the name a curse. If Keller had gone after Riah, after Victoria, Casey felt certain none of this would ever have come to light. Alex Coburn would have remained dead and long buried, and Casey’s wife and child wouldn’t have spent the last couple of months in another country.

He finished his scotch, considered asking for another. He realized he would most likely have had to tell Riah at some point. After all, there had been several people he might meet again who knew him as Alex Coburn. Need to know had been so ingrained in him, though, that Casey had chosen silence. After all, Lieutenant Coburn was more than twenty years dead and buried, and there had been no real threat that he would come back to haunt Casey anywhere but his dreams.

As he sat there, waited for the flight attendant to collect his empty glass, Casey decided that if Riah forgave him, he would tell her everything from this point forward that wouldn’t jeopardize national security. He loved his country, he believed with his entire being that his service was necessary and right, but he would never again risk losing the family who, as he had been reminded time and again, should come first.

Beckman and his various masters would simply have to accept that.

Of course, he had to get his wife to take him back first.

 

For some reason, he had thought V. H. would send someone to pick him up at the airport. Instead, his father-in-law came himself. Without a word, his driver took Casey’s bag, and V. H. gestured toward the back seat.

“Mariah doesn’t know you’re coming,” the other man told Casey once they were in the back and the car was on the move.

“Your daughter hates surprises more than anyone I know,” he reminded V. H. “You should have told her.”

“My daughter might well have packed up my granddaughter and taken off.” The other man grimaced. “That or you’d get a face full of Smith & Wesson when we turn up.”

Casey considered and then reconsidered his response. “She’s that mad?”

“She’s a lot of things,” V. H. confirmed, “and angry is just one of them.” He sighed, added, “I don’t know why I was feeling magnanimous, but I did you a favor and made sure that by the time we get there that’s redirected at someone else.”

The silence stretched for several minutes as Casey considered that. Curiosity got the better of him. “Who?”

“Debi Wallace.”

Despite the fact that V. H. was trying to do him a favor—or at least Casey was going to give him the benefit of the doubt—the other man’s choice of anger deflection left a lot to be desired. Casey had a history with Debi Wallace, and even though it wasn’t much of a history, given what his wife currently thought, _any_ history with another woman was likely to just set her off. “You couldn’t have picked someone I _don’t_ know?” Wallace was a first-class, gold-plated bitch, and the last thing Casey needed was to try and mend a rift with his wife in front of a woman who had once tried to apply for the job. Well, maybe not wife, Casey acknowledged, but she’d certainly made it clear Casey’s bed was an acceptable alternative.

Adderly sighed. “I really am going to have to shoot you, aren’t I?”

For once, Casey chose to ignore that particular jibe. “Just tell me how Wallace connects.”

V. H. looked embarrassed. “I’m dating her.”

Casey read that as sleeping with her and realized Wallace was the woman he’d spoken to that morning. It was none of his business, but Casey would have thought the other man would have a little sensitivity for his daughter, who found many of her father’s increasingly younger girlfriends repugnant. Debi Wallace wasn’t, after all, much older than Riah herself and was the kind of woman who tended to make Riah angry since she relied on her looks and sexuality to get what she wanted.

His wife, Casey thought with a small grin, was very much a brains girl, and if she ever realized what she could do with her looks, he was going to have to dog her steps and kill the men who wanted to do more than simply look.

“I’m not sure I like that expression,” V. H. said. “First, I’m aware you and Debi have a bit of history, and second, I suspect that look on your face means you’re planning to molest my daughter—if you manage to convince her not to just kill you on sight.”

“I plan to make love to my wife as soon as I’ve groveled appropriately,” Casey growled, but there wasn’t any heat in it. “As for Debi, I can’t exactly call stealing your old kiss-to-hide-from-the-enemy ploy a history. Frankly, I question your fitness for command, given you’re apparently letting Wallace molest you.”

V. H. laughed. “I suspect she’s telling my daughter it was something more than a kiss as deflection, and unless marrying you has made Mariah a worse judge of character than she has previously proven to be, you and I will be playing cleaners and disposing of a body before you get a chance to do any groveling.”

“She has a temper,” Casey admitted, “and that’s going to be the problem.” It was, too. He hadn’t told Riah things he should have, fundamental things she had a right to know despite the fact that they were things he wasn’t supposed to tell her. On the one hand, she had told him his past was the past, but on the other, it had become present and had caused her some very real pain. It had also cost her in very real, very tangible ways—him, too, for that matter. Casey wondered if she would ever fully trust him again, and he could hardly blame her if she didn’t.

The bottom line was that he should have told her. He’d had more than one opportunity, but he’d remained silent. On the night they got married the first time, when he’d made her promises, Casey had thought about telling her, but he had chosen not to. This was his mess, and he was going to have to clean it up. With any luck, there would be no need for body disposal—especially not his.

As Adderly’s driver pulled into her building’s garage, Casey felt nervous in a way he’d never done before. It wasn’t like his life was literally in danger, but in a way it was. Unfortunately, there were going to be witnesses to whatever Riah’s reaction would be, and while that didn’t especially bother him, it meant what he saw might not help him negotiate the minefield he’d created by not telling his wife about Kathleen.

Adderly stopped him when they left the car, retrieved his bag from the trunk and gestured toward the elevator. Casey took his bag, hoped he wasn’t going to have to find a hotel if Riah wouldn’t listen to him.

There were operatives on her floor when the doors opened. The one seated in an alcove opposite the elevator doors stood and nodded at V. H. “No one’s arrived since you left earlier.”

V. H. nodded, grinned, and asked, “Any gunshots?”

The operative’s eyes shot wide, and Casey admired how the kid—because he was probably younger than Bartowski—hid his fear that he might have missed some danger. “No, Sir.”

“Good.” Adderly then jerked a thumb at Casey. “This is Mariah’s husband, John Casey.”

Casey stuck his hand out. The kid took it nervously, said tightly, “Colonel.” Casey wondered whether his reputation had preceded him or if he had previously been on a suspect list.

He asked for the kid’s name, nodded when the man said, “Nathan Evans.”

As they moved down the hall toward her door, Casey spied another operative directly outside her door. This one looked about Casey’s age. V. H. introduced him as Lucas Stewart. Instead of knocking on Riah’s door, V. H. pulled out a key and let them into her apartment.

Casey drew a deep breath and steeled himself to face his wife.


	45. Chapter 45

Mariah was simply worn out. It had been a trying week, and because there had been a security breach in one of the government offices, it had been a long week. It didn’t help that Mariah’s head was somewhere else—more than one somewhere else at that.

She had taken the intelligence she had gleaned from her off-the-books investigation of her husband and his supposedly true identity to her father, had given him her report and its summary with copies of selected bits of evidence from which she had pieced together the truth. Her father had been tight-lipped since and refused to say what he’d done with what she’d learned or even whether he had given it to the Americans. She was certain he had shared it with Beckman. Mariah had taken to varying her routine and her routes to work, to the store, to home, just in case—because she wasn’t sure she trusted the Americans at all at this point.

To make matters worse, her father had decided two days before to invite her to lunch. Hoping he might have word about John, she had eagerly locked the data she was analyzing in her office safe, closed her computer files and logged off before she scooped up her purse to meet him. Mariah arrived first, so the maître d’ showed her to their table. She was reading through the menu when her father arrived—with his blonde du jour.

It had been obvious he was seeing someone, but Mariah had been so wrapped up in her shattered private life she hadn’t known who. It pissed her off to realize her father’s current playmate was not only an employee of ISI but had gone through the Institute with Mariah. Debi Wallace was four years older than she and a decorated field agent. That last was enough to sour Mariah’s day, especially since Mariah had been the one who graduated first in their class, who should have had first pick of assignments, but who had been denied because their boss listened to her father. Mariah’s appetite was suddenly gone. After all, if her father was introducing them, it was more serious than most of his women. It also irritated Mariah that she could hardly complain about their age difference given the gap between her and John.

Lunch was a strained affair. Debi gloated, or that was Mariah’s jaded view. Perhaps she wasn’t being fair to Debi or to her father, but Mariah was in no mood to be fair. As far as she was concerned, she didn’t have to be. He was her father, she loved him unconditionally, but she didn’t approve of his string of increasingly younger women. She supposed that if he really wanted to date the self-centered, he was welcome to do so, but she didn’t have to be sympathetic when the inevitable end came. She would also prefer not to have the intrusion into the limited time her father could give her. It didn’t help matters that Debi managed to make bladed conversation so that every remark she made cut to the bone.

As a result, Mariah went home with a pounding head. Early the next morning, her father came down to ICOM and closed her office door. Mariah wasn’t feeling much better than she had the night before, but for her father to come to her meant whatever he was there for was likely not going to be pleasant. He sat in the spare chair across from her desk and hunched his shoulders, his right hand cradling his dead, gloved, left one between his open thighs. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said without preamble.

Mariah seriously doubted it, so she held her tongue.

“I know lunch didn’t go well yesterday,” he told her. “I was hoping we could try again.”

Her heart sank. She had problems of her own, so her father’s love life was low on her priority list at the moment. “Dad, I’d rather not. You’re a grown up, and I really don’t need to know.”

“I like her, Mariah.”

She sighed at his defensive tone. It was going to be another one of those, she suspected. They would have a hot and heavy romance, and then something would go wrong: his attention would wander, Debi’s attention would wander, they would grow bored with one another, and then something would do it in. Mariah could wait it out. She had before. “I’m sure you do, Dad,” she said, rubbing her tired eyes. She really hadn’t slept much the night before, and her father’s new lover had very little to do with it.

“I know the two of you never got along that well,” he continued. “I also know that was mostly professional rivalry.”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes in disgust, Mariah crossed her arms on the desk in front of her. Debi wasn’t her rival. Mariah had not been allowed in the field for several years. By then, Debi was beyond her league. Mariah hadn’t resented that, nor had she resented the success of her classmates compared to her own stagnated career. If there was any kind of rivalry, it wasn’t on her side.

The truth of the matter was that Debi was the sort of woman Mariah had never liked. She was tall, willowy, and stunningly beautiful. Mariah was short, lean, and passably pretty. Debi probably got out of bed with every hair in place. These days Mariah couldn’t get out of her apartment without at least one milk stain or Victoria’s spit-up on her blouse. Everything probably fell into Debi’s lap, too, and Mariah was more than a little tired of fighting for the things she wanted.

“I’d like to try this again, on your turf this time.”

Mariah saw where this was going. She and her father had dinner each Wednesday night when they were both in the same city. They had resumed the tradition when she returned to Ottawa, but it had always been their alone time. She resented having Debi intrude on that. Even as she thought it, she realized her father must be more serious about Debi than Mariah thought if he wanted to bring her along. She sighed. “Fine.”

Her father’s crooked grin made an appearance, quickly followed by his deadpan, “I’m glad you’re so enthusiastic.”

She didn’t even try to conceal the glare she aimed at him. “What might Debi like for dinner?”

He shrugged, assured Mariah the other woman seemed to like everything, and excused himself, noted as he left that he would be out of town the rest of the day and would see her tomorrow evening for dinner.

At least Wednesday was one of her half days, Mariah thought as she roamed through the market that afternoon. She had decided to feed her father one of his least favorite meals as retaliation for inviting his girlfriend into her home and into their private time together, but as she walked along the fish stalls, she saw some truly beautiful fresh shrimp. She thought about angel hair pasta with the shrimp and a garlic wine sauce. Her father loved it. She chewed her lip, torn, but then walked on. By the time she found some excellent lamb chops, her mad had worn off some, so she bought the chops. Herbed and grilled, she would serve them with a rice pilaf and whatever fresh vegetables she could find. She’d follow with an Italian cream cake, she decided.

Mrs. Gerrard took one look at her as she hauled her purchases inside and suggested she let her prepare dinner. Mariah, tired and still not sleeping, appreciated the offer but declined, though she let the other woman unpack the bags and store the food away while she held her daughter and listened to Mrs. Gerrard’s recitation of how they had spent the day. Mariah smiled at Victoria, who was at that stage where she could sit on her own and could babble. Mariah just stayed out of the way as the other woman rattled off a string of details about their walk in the park that afternoon. It had been unseasonably warm the last few days, and the ersatz nanny had taken to bundling Victoria up and taking her in her stroller through a nearby park. It made Mariah nervous as hell, but Mrs. Gerrard had once been one of ISI’s best operatives. She wouldn’t recklessly risk Victoria’s life.

When they were alone again, Mariah cradled her daughter in her lap and talked softly to her. She wasn’t sure why she did so. It was unlikely Victoria understood anything she said, but it made her feel better. Ironically, Mariah talked to her daughter about her grandfather and the woman he was bringing to their home that night. “Lucky you,” she finished as Victoria yawned. “You get to sleep through it.”

She put Victoria in her high chair, gave her a few toys she could chew on before she moved it next to where she worked. She made the cake and prepped the chops. She would marinade them, Mariah decided, and prepared the marinade, chopping fresh rosemary and oregano.

In the early evening, she nursed her daughter, bathed her, and then rocked her until she fell asleep. Mariah put Victoria gently in her crib and turned on the monitor before she returned to preparing dinner.

Her father was always punctual, so she assumed that this evening would be no different. Perhaps that was why she jumped when the door buzzer went off thirty minutes before he was due. She called up the video then frowned at Debi’s impatient image in the vestibule below, noted the woman appeared to be alone. Mariah pushed the button and asked, “Yes?”

“Your father had to pick up a package,” Debi said. “He dropped me here and said to tell you he’ll be about fifteen minutes late.”

Mariah sighed. _Great_. She got to entertain Debi for forty-five minutes or more. She buzzed the other woman in then waited by the door for her to arrive.

As long as she didn’t think about the fact that Debi would go home with her father, would likely spend the night with him, Mariah found it surprisingly easy to be civil to the other woman. Debi asked if she could help, but Mariah shook her head and suggested the other woman have a seat. Debi sat on one of the bar stools at the counter and watched as Mariah worked. Mariah offered her a drink, but Debi said that she’d help herself—if that was okay. Since she wasn’t interested in waiting on the woman, Mariah waved a hand at the sideboard behind Debi that passed as a bar and told her to go right ahead.

“Want anything?” Debi asked as Mariah put the rice on.

She shook her head. “Can’t.”

Debi made a face. “Why not?”

“Nursing.”

There was a moment when Mariah wondered if the blonde thing was true, conveniently ignoring the fact that she, herself, was blonde. The other woman frowned, obviously puzzled. “I thought you were working in ICOM?”

She nearly rumbled one of John’s growls. “I have a six-month-old daughter.”

Understanding dawned slowly. For a smart woman, Debi had certain cognitive issues, Mariah thought snidely. Lounging against the counter near where Mariah worked, Debi sipped her martini. “That’s right. You married the _very_ yummy John Casey.”

Mariah gritted her teeth and then resorted to channeling her husband by giving a not-quite grunt of agreement. It was that or demand to know how Debi could possibly know whether John was yummy or not. She did, though, drop a hand for a moment to the drawer where she kept a loaded Glock, rapidly calculated the odds, and removed her hand only when the other woman changed the subject.

“So where is she?” Debi asked.

“Asleep,” Mariah said as she turned the lamb chops in their bag of marinade. She decided to focus on preparing the meal so she wasn’t tempted to shoot the other woman—only briefly hoped Debi gave her an excuse to do exactly that. The chops sat on the counter where she would let them come close to room temperature before she started the grill. There were advantages to having a professional stove, she mused. One was that she didn’t have to go out on the cold terrace to grill the chops.

The sharp smile that curved Debi’s mouth when Mariah looked up should have warned her, but she was too tired to think what the little hint of smirk might mean. “It must have been so difficult for you to find out Casey isn’t who he claimed,” the other woman said. Mariah’s jaw clenched. “V. H. says you should consider a divorce.”

Her father would have said no such thing, she knew, and certainly not to Debi if he had. Despite briefly considering a few very particular uses to which she could put the very sharp knives near to hand, Mariah didn’t change her grip on the chef’s knife she held, simply said placidly, “I love my husband—and he is exactly who he claimed to be.”

That seemed to be news to Debi, but Mariah didn’t care. How dare that woman come into her home and take digs at her, at John?

Debi sipped her martini again and eyed Mariah over its rim. Privately, and completely without guilt, Mariah hoped she choked on the cocktail onion. “I see you’re as blindly loyal as Casey.”

She didn’t dignify that with an answer. Instead, she put water on to boil for the fresh vegetables she planned to steam and started the grill. At least Debi hadn’t called him Coburn. Mariah was certain she would not be able maintain her polite façade if the other woman used that name. She wasn’t certain she wouldn’t do her serious bodily harm if Debi mentioned it.

“Your father said Casey was fired.”

Mariah didn’t reply to that, either, remained focused on cooking. In an attempt to distract herself from contemplating—or actually committing—murder, she ran her mental checklist. She had set the table before Debi arrived, so that was done. She opened the bottle of wine she’d selected and carried it to the table so it could breathe. She would have to get her father to reach the wineglasses for her guests, but she would drink milk instead.

“So what have you been working on in ICOM?” Debi asked when it was clear that Mariah wouldn’t talk about her marriage.

Knowing better than to gossip, especially since she was getting quite a few of the really sensitive assignments, she simply shrugged. “This and that.”

Debi had resumed her seat on the bar stool. She leaned forward, both elbows on the counter, and cupped her martini glass in both hands. “Dave usually tells me.”

Mariah could just imagine, especially if the other woman exposed as much cleavage as she did at the moment. She had to make a conscious effort to keep her tone even when she responded through gritted teeth, “I’m not Dave.”

Her father apparently decided to use his key rather than have her buzz him in since Mariah heard it turn in the lock as she shut off the stove and placed the last chop on the tray. Debi slid off her stool and made her way toward the door. Mariah thought she could have at least taken a dish to the table on her way.

On tiptoes, Mariah reached for the wineglasses, not sure how long her father would take greeting Debi and unwilling to witness it. She was barely able to slide the glasses out of the rack from which they hung. She needed to think about having the rack lowered or about putting some glasses in an easier to reach spot. When she turned, a glass in each hand, she dropped them in shock.

She couldn’t breathe, felt faint. Not at all certain she wasn’t hallucinating, she started to rush forward, but John barked, “Don’t move!”

For a moment, Mariah felt keen rejection flood through her. Then, when he moved forward and lifted her, his arms around her waist, she remembered her bare feet and the shattered glasses. She wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders and neck and just clung to him, closed her eyes tightly. God, she had missed him.

She sincerely hoped she wasn’t hallucinating. He felt real, solid, and she breathed in his scent. Mariah clung because she was afraid she was imagining this, because she was afraid that if she released him, he would disappear again. For a moment, she thought she could forgive her father for foisting Debi on her because he brought her husband to her.

“Riah,” John breathed in her ear, and she squeezed her eyes more tightly closed, tightened her arms around him. It had been so long since anyone had called her that, and hearing her husband’s husky whisper made her want to cry.

“John,” she whispered in return and blindly turned her face to his. He caught her mouth, and she kissed him back for all she was worth.

Her father, perhaps predictably, told Debi, “This is the part where he molests my daughter. Maybe we should just leave them to it.”

John let her mouth go then shot a look at her father. “No one’s keeping you.”

“Are those lamb chops?” her father asked, but Mariah wasn’t the least fooled by the innocent tone in his voice.

John turned and put her down away from the broken glass. Mariah retrieved a broom and started to efficiently sweep up the remains of the wineglasses. John stopped her and took the broom and the dustpan before he nodded at the food waiting to go to the table. Mariah walked around the counter and stepped carefully to where the bowls and platter sat. She would have to set another place, she realized, and then she worried whether the food would go far enough.

Perhaps it was the therapy she had undergone, but she realized she was worrying about mundane issues to avoid the big, ugly one: her husband, the man she loved, the man she married, had apparently lied to her, had at the very least omitted something vital about his past, but here he was, cleaning up broken glasses as if nothing had happened. Her hands shook when she reached to open the cabinet where she kept the plates. She took flatware out of the drawer, and then she crossed to set a place for him at the table next to hers. She headed back to the kitchen and saw him reaching down more glasses. “Three,” she told him as he reached for the second pair. She took a tumbler from the cabinet.

Dinner was odd. John said little, but Mariah said even less. Her father filled the gaps with help from Debi. The other woman asked a couple of prying questions before John gave her the Death Glare. Mariah admitted she enjoyed that. The good news was the other couple didn’t stay long, but when Mariah finally saw them to the door and spied John’s bag next to it, she had a brief moment of panic, nearly begged her father to stay. He gave her a sympathetic look as he leaned in and kissed her cheek. Debi had already gone out into the hall and pushed the elevator button.

“Remember,” her father said softly, “he didn’t lie about everything, and there were reasons for what he did. Hear him out.”

Mariah twisted her hands together as she walked back to John. He stood near the couch that faced the windows. “We need to talk.”

“That’s never good,” she said, then regretted that the first thing she thought popped right out of her mouth, especially since it echoed what she had said to him the first time he’d said those words to her. Mariah breathed in deeply and waved a hand at the couch that faced the windows. John waited for her to take a seat, so she folded herself into a corner, crossed her arms over her chest and pulled her bent legs up against them. John sat on the opposite end of the couch, which made her uneasy. She wanted him beside her, but she knew they had things to say before they could see where this would go. It suddenly occurred to her that the last time he’d told her they needed to talk and they faced off from opposite ends of a sofa she had lost her virginity.

She fought down her momentary hysteria at that thought.

Mariah had a sudden memory of a cartoon she had once seen in an old magazine. Two scientists were at a blackboard following a complex equation, and in the middle of the equation were words to the effect, “And then a miracle happens.” Mariah rather thought she might need a miracle. The pain she had felt when she learned that John had once pretended to be Alexander Coburn, had loved a woman, had planned to marry her, and had never once mentioned her to Mariah had cut worse than anything she had ever experienced. He had a daughter ten years younger than she was, a grown woman, but he had told Mariah nothing about any of it. John had promised to be honest, to never lie to her, and she could argue that he hadn’t. That didn’t change the fact that he had hidden a significant piece of his history, a piece that partly made him who he was, so she couldn’t help but wonder now what else he had kept from her.

He didn’t look at her, and, somehow, that made it worse. “I should have told you,” John began. Mariah bit her lip to keep from agreeing. He had to say it, and he didn’t need her to take cheap shots while he did so. “There are a lot of reasons I didn’t, Riah, not the least because there really was an Alex Coburn, and he’s dead.” John sighed, rolled his shoulders forward a little. “I was never comfortable with anything connected to him—the real him or the part that was me pretending to be him.”

It was coming out awkwardly, but it often did when John was talking off the cuff and wasn’t sure what to say or where to go with something. That reassured her a little. She wasn’t getting a practiced speech, a pat story, which made her relax just a bit.

“None of us thought it would take this long to play this out,” he said after a few moments. “When Keller was dishonorably discharged, disappeared, I hoped that was the end of it. Alex Coburn could go back to being dead. I can’t say I didn’t expect Keller to turn up sometime, but when he did, I thought at first he would threaten you and Victoria. I was stunned when he mentioned Kathleen and what he would do to her.” John shot her a look then. “How he missed you, missed that I had married you, I don’t understand. It isn’t like our marriage wasn’t public knowledge or that the Ring doesn’t know. All I can assume is that he was sloppy, didn’t look beyond the obvious because he knew how I felt about Kathleen.”

John’s eyes closed, and Mariah could read the pain there before they did. Part of her wondered if this Keller had chosen Kathleen because he knew her danger would wound John more than Mariah’s. “I didn’t know about her daughter,” he said. Something about that _her_ worried Mariah. She wondered if his denial that she was his daughter, too, was self-preservation, wishful thinking, or rejection. “The last time I talked to Kathleen, she told me she had big news. I thought it was about the wedding.”

Mariah chewed her lower lip. As she watched him hunt for the words to continue, she felt guilt of her own. She hadn’t told John she was pregnant the first time, either, hadn’t told him about her miscarriage, but she had known he was still alive. Kathleen thought he—Alex—was dead. In some ways, she was less to blame than Mariah had been.

He lifted his head and looked at her. “Riah, I won’t lie to you. I loved her. She was the love of my life, but I chose my country over her.”

_And there it was_ , Mariah thought numbly. John couldn’t reconcile that choice now that he had stared at what he’d missed. She noted the past tense in his words, but she read present tense on his face. Mariah realized she was second choice once again. Suddenly, she was tired, so very, very tired. She knew what that meant, so she hugged her middle a little tighter and waited.

There was something expectant in his look, and she finally realized he was waiting for some kind of response from her. Mariah wasn’t sure she could make a civil one. She wanted to throw something at him. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream at him, wanted to hit him. She wanted to hold him and tell him she understood even though she was pretty sure she didn’t. Instead, she said the one thing that had continuously run through her mind from the moment she’d learned about Alex Coburn: “This would have been so much easier if you had just told me.” Mariah had tried not to make that sound recriminatory, but she didn’t think she had succeeded from the look on his face. “You told me about Ilsa, and while I didn’t like that—especially not when she thought she could still have you—I coped. I think I could have taken this, too, John.”

“Did you ever love someone so much it hurt?” he asked quietly.

Mariah felt the tears gather, she looked down and away, determined not to let them fall. She nodded. She did. Him.

“That’s how I love you, Riah,” John said softly. Her head shot up; she studied the naked honesty on his face. “That’s how Alex Coburn loved her.”

She felt that stab deeply. Mariah breathed in once, then again. Pain squeezed tightly. John said Alex Coburn, but he was that man. She wondered if he was trying to tell her he still loved the other woman or if he was trying to tell her that love had been confined to his pretense to be Coburn. Whichever it was, Mariah wasn’t willing to share, so she decided she would take John’s advice from the Christmas when he proposed, would be selfish for once in her life. John was hers. She had no intention of sharing him with this Kathleen, let alone stepping aside without a fight.

He must have read something in her face. “I’ve had some time to think about it.” Mariah’s heart sank, her courage retreated, certain he was about to tell her he’d made a choice and she and Victoria had lost. He changed tack, though. “I walked away from her for duty. I walked away because I had a job to do. I rarely regretted it, Riah, but once in a while I would remember her, remember what I felt for her.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “When I met Ilsa, I thought I had finally let go of Kathleen. When Ilsa died—well, when I thought she died—I decided I was allergic to emotion.” He swallowed, then shot her a sideways look.

“This might be easier if you said something,” John told her ruefully.

She licked her dry lips, swallowed. “I simply don’t know what to say, John.” She really didn’t. “You promised you’d never lie to me, and I suppose, technically, you didn’t, but then I have our home invaded by representatives of your government. Suddenly, I’m being treated like a criminal, and no one, including Sarah Walker, will talk to me or tell me what’s going on. They insist you aren’t who you claimed, they tell me our marriage is invalid, and they tell me I’m no longer welcome and am being deported.” She pulled her legs closer against her arms and chest, forced herself to relax the muscles that tightened during that recitation. “Then I get here only to find out that apparently it’s all true. I’m told about your . . . your Kathleen and your. . . daughter.” Mariah covered her eyes with a hand, swallowed. “My whole life with you suddenly looked like what a lot of my life has been: one big lie no one prepared me for. If there’s anything I’ve learned, John, it’s that secrets like that don’t stay buried. They always surface.”

Mariah lowered her hand. John stared out at the city lights. When he remained silent, she continued. “I will admit our life started on a lie, but it became real—or so I thought.” She floundered in her thoughts for a moment. “I feel for you, John, I really do. You made a choice many of us never have to actually make, but it wouldn’t have been my choice—I don’t think—so I need to know what you plan to do now. She’s apparently free. She lives near you, which until they lift the deportation order, if they do, I won’t be.”

“Riah—“

“No,” she cut him off. “I’ve seen how you are with Victoria. I know what you feel for our daughter. I find it hard to believe you can ignore a child of yours. Don’t make a decision until you’re sure, John. Don’t make more promises to me, to us, you might not be able to keep.” Mariah studied him, cocked her head at the guilt she read there. John didn’t typically betray his thoughts and feelings that way. “I don’t know what’s really going on here."

His expression went neutral, but his eyes gave away the truth. Strangely, the tightness in her chest eased a little at what she saw. Mariah simply hoped she wasn’t misreading him, wasn’t seeing what she wanted rather than what was. “You don’t need to explain that to me, not now, but you’re going back to Burbank, and I’m going to be staying here for the moment. I don’t like it, but that’s the way it is. I presume that’s to protect us.” John gave her a spare, cautious nod. The tightness returned along with questions she would not ask, not yet. “Perhaps you should use the time to decide what you want.”

“What do you want?”

She nearly told him, nearly said that she wanted him, wanted to go home, wanted to know that he wouldn’t drag her into some dysfunctional relationship like those she had grown up with where the delicate dance around connections and family could turn metaphorically deadly. Instead, Mariah said, “What I want isn’t important right now. You have to decide what you want. Then we can deal.”

It sounded heartless, even to Mariah, and she wondered if she said what she did to start the distancing process. She couldn’t compete with a first love. They were legendarily the one no one ever got over. It was apparently true in John’s case, and it was definitely true in hers. She knew she wouldn’t get over him, knew she would love him always. She also knew she had to love him enough to let him do what he needed to do. Mariah simply hoped she had the strength.

He looked at her, opened his mouth, then closed it again, chose not to say whatever it was he had been about to say. Mariah rolled her lower lip between her teeth and bit down, waited. When she was certain he would say no more, she met his eyes. “You may stay here if you like,” she offered tightly. “Victoria sleeps in the spare room, but there’s a bed there—or you can sleep here.”

She stood, so did John. Those manners of his used to amuse her. Now they simply made her feel like they were strangers. He followed her back to the bedroom doors. She quietly turned the doorknob on Victoria’s door and slowly pushed it open. John stepped inside, crossed to the crib in the corner and looked down at his daughter. Mariah wondered if he thought about that other daughter as he watched Victoria sleep. She had stayed in the doorway, but now she pushed away from the door jamb to go to her own room. Victoria stirred, gave a whimpering cry, but Mariah, by now familiar with her different cries, knew her daughter wouldn’t settle back into sleep.

John reached into the crib for his daughter. Mariah listened as he softly talked to her. By the time he had Victoria cradled against his chest and turned to face Mariah, their daughter was making her displeasure known. Mariah stepped forward and reached for her, but John frowned and hugged Victoria a little closer. “She needs to be fed,” she said quietly. “At this time of night, I usually change her first.” To her surprise, he turned to do it.

It occurred to her that they were reduced to banalities and talking about their child. As she watched him, she chewed her lip, wondered how John felt about her having reminded him of a routine he knew well. It wasn’t as if he had had time to forget, after all. When he finished changing the diaper, she reached for Victoria. He disposed of the dirty diaper and followed her out of the bedroom. He washed his hands and Mariah stopped on her way to the rocker. John looked up, frowned. “Would you like to do it?”

John looked confused, and then he flushed, waved a hand at her chest, and asked awkwardly, “Don’t you have to . . . ?“

Victoria was just beginning to eat solids, so Mariah usually fed her daughter a little cereal in the morning. She had nursed Victoria earlier, and she could probably wait to do so again in the early morning. There were two bottles of breast milk in the refrigerator, so if John wanted to feed Victoria, Mariah could warm one and pump more while he fed their daughter. She explained she could heat a bottle before she renewed the offer, which he accepted. John followed her into the kitchen, watched while she warmed the milk. She waved him to the couch, waited as he shed his jacket and the shoulder holster with the SIG Sauer and took a seat before she handed him the bottle and briefly explained what to do. When he seemed to have the hang of it, she moved to quietly begin clearing the table and load the dishwasher.

She heard John talk softly to Victoria, but she was too far away to hear what he said. She stacked the pots and pans in the sink and padded softly to her bedroom where she quietly closed the door behind her. Mariah tried not to think as she pumped milk. She needed to make sure Mrs. Gerrard had enough for the next day anyway, she thought, and pretended she didn’t mind that Victoria was the one nestled in her father’s arms.

 

\-------X-------

 

Casey cradled Victoria. Her blue eyes stared up at him as he held her and wished like hell his wife would take a seat beside him. He didn’t know what to think, didn’t know what Riah thought, but he knew he had to make this right.

He needed them back.

Victoria’s tiny hand patted his fingers where they held the bottle. He smiled at her, something twisting in his chest as she patted at his hand once more, those big blue eyes locked on him all the while. “Any ideas how to get your mother to forgive me?” he whispered softly. Victoria’s eyes blinked closed and then opened to focus on him once more. He thought about the look on his wife’s face when she turned to see him standing there. Shock had been chased by a radiant happiness only to be replaced by searing hurt. Casey hated seeing that kind of pain on her face. He’d seen it all too often, but this had been one of the very few times he had been responsible for that look.

Riah moved quietly while she removed the remnants of dinner from the table. He could hear the occasional chink of china and the scrape of a utensil removing waste from a plate before she loaded them into the dishwasher. Victoria wiggled a little but continued draining the bottle. “I could really use the help here,” Casey assured her. Her hand patted his again, faster this time.

He glanced across at his wife as she rinsed pans in the sink. He used the running water to mask his voice. “She seemed happy to see me,” he mused, thought of how his wife had kissed him in those first moments after she saw him, and watched as Riah stacked the pots and pans in the sink. Victoria stiffened a moment and then relaxed, her feet kicking slightly. Casey lifted a brow and looked at his daughter. “I hope that isn’t your way of telling me she’s going to kick me out,” he told her softly. He supposed he’d deserve it if Riah did, but Casey didn’t intend to go quietly or without a fight.

“You know,” he confided softly, “your dad’s an idiot, but he loves your mother.” Victoria’s eyelids drooped a little. “I love you, too,” he added. “Never forget that.” He watched Riah walk from the large, open room to her bedroom door and close it softly behind her. Casey sagged, sighed, and focused on his daughter once more.

He didn’t think Riah intended to divorce him, but there was a niggling doubt. He couldn’t blame her if she did. He had promised her honesty, but he had hidden something that could—did—come back to haunt him. She was hurt, and a few times during that awkward conversation, she had looked like she might cry. For once, he had half hoped she would so he had an excuse to hold her. That, of course, assumed Riah wouldn’t use such proximity to do him damage.

Victoria finished her bottle, so Casey leaned forward, set it on the coffee table and sat her up, rubbed her tiny, soft back. His hand could almost cover his daughter’s entire back, he marveled. Then he wondered who had done this for the other girl, wondered if Kathleen had been forced to care solely for her daughter or if she had had anyone to help. He thrust those thoughts away. Speculation would change nothing.

Obviously sleepy, Victoria yawned, so he took her to her room, sat in the chair Riah had placed there. She had a rocker in the living room, but Casey preferred the soft darkness of Victoria’s small room and the larger, more comfortable armchair there. He thought about all those nights he sat with his wife while she fed their daughter, sat and talked softly about them, about their day, about Bartowski and Walker and Beckman, about how much he hated retail hell, about what they could be doing and where they could be instead. He lifted Victoria to his shoulder, rubbed her back gently. This was one of those moments Casey looked forward to, one of those moments that helped keep him sane, and he wondered if this would be one of the last times he’d have it.

He heard Riah leave her room. He didn’t think she would keep Victoria from him, not even if she sent him away. The truth was, though, that if he couldn’t get her to forgive him, he was unlikely to spend much time with Victoria. Casey’s job would keep him away from them, especially if Riah stayed in Canada. He lowered Victoria to his chest, and she settled against him, closed her eyes. He wanted desperately to keep this, to make things right with his wife, so Casey considered all the ways he might persuade her.

Because Casey was a well-trained professional and because it was quiet in the apartment and he was listening, he heard the soft pad of Riah’s bare feet outside. He didn’t look up, though, not yet ready to face her again. Their conversation earlier hadn’t resolved anything, though he was grateful it hadn’t involved screaming or tears. He needed time to plan, time to consider options, time to build his argument. He was well aware of how little time he had, but he couldn’t rush this. It was too important. He relaxed a little when he heard her return to her room.

He continued to hold his daughter for quite a while, even after she went to sleep. Casey studied her face, noted the changes since he last saw her, memorized her features, the feel of her, the scent of her. He finally put her in her crib.

When he returned to the main part of Riah’s loft, Casey looked around. His bag was still in the hall, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep no matter how tired he might be. He was tempted to go to his wife’s room, but Riah had made it plain he wasn’t welcome there. He shoved a hand through his hair and headed toward the kitchen. He opened cabinets, looked for a glass, and when he had found one, he eyed the pans in the sink. Casey set the glass on the counter behind him, rolled up his sleeves, ran water, and washed the pots and pans. It took him a few tries to find where they went when he was finished, but he finally had them put away.

Picking up the glass once more, Casey returned to the living room, paused only to take the bottle of twenty-five-year-old Macallan scotch. He sat both on her coffee table before stripping off his tie and tossing it on the table next to his shoulder holster and weapon. Sitting, he splashed a healthy measure of scotch in his glass and sat back in the dark, looked out over the city lights and lifted the glass.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there in her dark living room thinking through various strategies for convincing Riah to forgive him, take him back, but Casey had splashed whisky in the glass several times. When he heard the doorknob turn, he nearly reached for his SIG on the coffee table before him until he realized it was Riah’s bedroom door that opened. He sat back and silently watched her walk into the darkened room where he sat and cross to the bookcases along the brick wall near where it joined the glass. Riah ran her fingers over the books, appeared to be searching for something from memory. Casey reached up and switched on the lamp next to him.


	46. Chapter 46

In the sudden brightness, Riah whirled to face him, blinked. While Casey waited for her to adjust to the light, he leaned forward to set his glass on the coffee table next to the bottle of scotch, his discarded tie, and holstered weapon. Her face was wary, exhausted; Casey knew she hadn’t slept at all.

“Think we could try this again?” he asked.

One advantage—or maybe disadvantage—of her obvious lack of sleep was that her expressions weren’t at all hard to read. Riah looked like she was about to refuse. Part of that might be that Casey had taken her by surprise. Still, the simmering anger likely would have been plainly written on her face regardless of how little sleep Riah had had. He didn’t relax when she finally walked toward him and sat on the sofa. That was only partly because this time she sat a little closer to him and didn’t take up a defensive position as she had earlier.

It was do or die, and he’d spent the last few hours sorting through what he needed to say and how to say it, especially since time was rapidly running out. Casey fixed his hopes on that very first reaction of hers when he’d arrived, drew in a deep breath, and met her unhappy gaze. He’d start with what he hoped remained obvious: “Riah, I love you.” Her face paled, but this time she more successfully hid her reaction. “That hasn’t changed.” He turned a little more toward her, watched as she looped hair behind her ear with a shaking hand. That momentary tremor encouraged him. “I want you to come home.”

She breathed in, held it, as she bit at her lower lip. She looked as though she was about to cry, and Casey didn’t think he could take that. “I can’t, John,” Riah finally choked out.

“ _Why?_ ” He didn’t bother to hide the anger and pain that particular rejection made him feel.

His response made her flinch, which set his temper off. Not once had he ever physically hurt her, but that made him think Riah might believe he would. Casey tried to hold back the rest, struggled not to launch into the inevitable argument, but then she reminded him softly, “I can’t enter the United States, John.”

Casey’s face blanked a moment. He had forgotten she wasn’t allowed to cross the border. That took the fight out of him, especially since her tone hadn’t been angry. He studied her, noted she simply seemed sad, that the anger he’d seen had been replaced with something more like pain, so he softened his own voice to ask, “What if that changed?”

“I’d be on the first flight out of Ottawa,” Riah said without hesitation, and that made the kind of unfamiliar hope he’d long learned to distrust well. “I love you, too, John. That didn’t change. That’s one of the reasons I worked so hard to prove you weren’t Alexander Coburn. I wanted to make sure they couldn’t nullify our marriage because I’m not quite ready to let you go.”

It wasn’t easy to tell how she meant that. Her voice had remained uninflected, so Casey searched her eyes, sought softness, but it wasn’t there. He supposed he could understand that. After all, as she had just said, Riah had worked hard to learn what he should have told her, and he feared she wasn’t quite ready to forgive him, despite not having sent him packing.

He considered his options. Words usually got him in trouble, and Casey knew even one verbal misstep would have her kicking him out the door and sealing it closed behind him. He thought hard, and then, for some reason, he remembered the night he confronted Riah over her having asked her father to recall her.

That tactic was risky, but he decided that since it worked once, it might work again. Casey had to get Riah to crack, but until she did, he wasn’t sure she’d really listen to what he needed to tell her.

Gathering his courage, Casey sat forward, turned more fully toward her, and calculated whether she would let him do it or whether she’d take his head off. A wary expression crept onto her face. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he slowly reached out and lifted her left hand from her lap. He simply held it. When Riah didn’t protest, he ran his thumb over her knuckles, eyed her wedding and engagement rings. “I’m nowhere near ready to let you go,” he told her in a soft, firm voice as he lifted her hand.

Her eyes closed when Casey pressed his mouth to her palm. She breathed his name, and he tugged her closer. Riah came willingly when he pulled her into his arms. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered before he put his mouth to hers. Her lips parted beneath his. Riah cupped his face, spread her fingers along his jaw.

“I missed you, too,” she whispered when their mouths parted before she leaned in and kissed him again.

So talking was overrated, Casey decided as he drew her into his lap, deepened the kiss. Eventually he would have to do it, but it could wait. As long as Riah didn’t come to her senses too soon, he figured she’d be much more willing to give him the benefit of the doubt after he reminded her of the one thing they never got wrong. Riah’s hands went to his shoulders, stroked over the crisp cotton of his shirt. As the kiss heated, she started pushing buttons from their holes, slid her hands inside his shirt and along his skin. Casey moved one of his hands from her waist to trail it slowly down her hip, her thigh, where he found the slit in her gown and slid his fingers and palm onto the smooth skin of her calf. He let his hand glide back up her calf, over her knee, up her thigh. Riah moaned.

“God, I love that you don’t wear underwear to bed,” he groaned. Riah smiled before she pulled his mouth back to hers.

She tugged his shirt free of his trousers, stroked it off him, then reached for his belt. Obviously, Riah was of a like mind, was willing to suspend the discussion for action, so Casey shifted his legs beneath her and toed off his shoes. After all, he stood to benefit by accommodating her, and by actively helping her get his clothes off, he could get around to the kind of earnest appeasement he hoped would gain him enough good will that she’d listen to his explanations.

Solely in the interest of reestablishing peace with his wife, Casey ran both his hands beneath the silk of her nightgown and let them skim to her hips as Riah moved, straddled him, and began working on the fasteners of his trousers. He helped her shove them and his boxers down. Casey wondered if he had miscalculated his ability to control this when Riah slid tightly up against him. She ground against him, and he wound his fingers in her hair, tugged slightly to gain access.

Riah tilted her head back as he kissed down her throat. She lifted, took him inside her. Always willing to oblige, Casey thrust up into her. Her moan forced a grin out of him. It disappeared when it occurred to him that she might be simply taking what she wanted before she kicked him out. She gripped his shoulders as she lifted and sank over him. The hand not tangled in her hair gripped her hip, helped her. Her mouth caught his hard, her teeth bit at his lower lip; Casey decided that if she was trying to punish him, he’d take it. For a while, all thought left him, and he simply concentrated on how she felt around him, against him, over him. He focused on her, on the rhythm she set, on her movements, and just as she came undone and he was about to follow her, Casey gritted against her ear, “Only you, Riah,” and then he fell.

As he waited for his breath to return to normal, he felt her lean into him. Casey rolled his head so that his mouth brushed just below her ear. Riah turned her head, and he gave her a soft, gentle kiss. His hands moved, and he stroked her gown up. She shifted so he could take it over her head and arms before he tossed it over the back of the couch.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, relaxed into him, and though he would have liked to take a good look at her, Casey was in no mood to protest. He was naked—if he didn’t count his socks and his pants around his ankles—so it wasn’t right that she had remained covered. Besides, he wanted to touch her, wanted to feel the heated softness of her skin against his. “It’s only fair,” he murmured as he palmed a breast and kissed his way down her throat. She arched so he could kiss along her skin, trail his mouth to her breast, to her nipple. Riah’s hands cradled his head to her, and her eyes slid closed.

He tried not to be a smug bastard. He was now more certain he could win her back, especially when her breath hitched and Riah breathed, “By all means. Let’s be fair.”

Grunting a soft laugh against her breast, Casey shifted his hold on her and rolled her off him so that she was on her back on the sofa cushions. He pushed his pants the rest of the way off and shed his socks before he covered her with his body, whispered kisses over her face. Riah stroked a foot along his calf. “The last time we made love on a couch, it was Christmas.”

The reminder dented his mood. He wondered if Riah intentionally pointed out that he had had to defuse her anger at his abandonment of her that night. The circumstances had been different then, Casey thought as he cradled her jaw in his hand, but the parallels between that night and this one didn’t escape him. He had had to explain both his actions and his feelings to her then, too.

But not yet, he decided. Casey caught her mouth, kissed her thoroughly. “We’ve got to stop reuniting like this, Mrs. Casey.”

For some reason, that made her laugh, and something loosened in Casey. He sincerely hoped that laugh meant she was most of the way to forgiving him. Riah’s body lifted, rubbed against him. “I don’t know, Colonel,” she purred, “I kind of like the way we come back together sometimes.” Casey gave her another kiss, stroked a hand down to her hip and onto the thigh pressed against his own hip. “But I would really like to stop the splitting up part.”

This time, when he kissed her, Casey put what he felt into it, tried to convey how much he loved her, how sorry he was for not having told her what he should have. “No splitting up, Riah,” he whispered as he met her eyes. “That I promise. You’re stuck with me unless you or someone else kills me.”

Her smile was broad, and then she laughed. “I’m now very glad we used the traditional marriage vows when we got married, John, since that’s the uniquely you kind of promise my father would never be able to let us live down.”

Casey took no offense at her comment, especially since the shadows were gone from her eyes and face. Unfortunately, he was going to have to put them back. He took her mouth again. Riah moved beneath him in ways that had him once more considering putting it all off, had him thinking that if he could just keep her physically happy she might let him off the hook without having to talk.

But then it would simply fester, he knew, so Casey pressed another soft kiss on her mouth. “Unfortunately,” he added gruffly, seizing on her previous comment about naked reunions on couches, “I’ll have to leave you alone sometimes because of the job.”

“What’s really going on, John?”

He hesitated. Her question, unlike his observation, wasn’t about their future; it was about how she’d wound up in Canada working for ISI again, about how she had been told she was no longer a US citizen and no longer married to him. He shouldn’t tell her, because at the moment she was a foreign spy again, but when her face shut down once more, when she swallowed before lifting to press a too-brief kiss on his mouth before telling him, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that,” Casey decided to violate his oaths and orders and explain anyway.

“No,” he agreed. Then he shifted his weight and rolled toward the back of the couch. He lay on his side and drew her against him. She looked up at him. “It’s a very long story, Riah, but the short version is that John Casey died, became Alex Coburn, Coburn supposedly died, and Casey was resurrected. From there, it was playing out a long-term game. Basically, I did what I was accused of, then I killed Keller, and people at a higher pay grade decided it was time for me to be a civilian again.”

“Beckman,” she said.

He rewarded her with a brief kiss. “You were deported, in part, to keep you and Victoria safe.”

Riah looked like she didn’t quite follow him.

Casey chose his words carefully. “No one’s sure who is who these days. We don’t know if the Ring is the end of this or just another piece of a larger puzzle.” He cradled her jaw and blurted the part that had stunned him. “Bartowski killed Shaw in Paris.” When Riah gasped softly, obviously found it hard to believe Chuck capable of that, he told her the part neither Bartowski nor Walker yet knew: “It seems Shaw might still be alive.”

Stopping there, Casey considered how to explain the rest of the web of deception to her. Before he could organize his explanation, she prompted in a whisper, “This other game.”

Riah wasn’t stupid. It was one of the things Casey loved most about her, and he was thankful for the assist. He was telling her things that could put all of them in jeopardy, but she had to trust him going forward, so he confessed, “Paul Patterson. The Marines were after Keller long before the intelligence services had him on their radar. Patterson thought that after Keller’s blackmail, the Ring might make a separate approach. They had to believe I’d lost everything. They had to believe you and I were finished, that you were punishing me for Kathleen.”

For a moment, he stiffened in a sort of full-body wince. He should have left Kathleen’s name out of it until he had the rest of it explained. Casey steeled himself for her reaction. When it came, it wasn’t at all what he would have predicted.

“I shouldn’t have meddled.”

Casey realized Riah was upset that her clandestine investigation might have done harm. Then he gave her a thankful kiss, realized that the fact she knew the story—or most of it—might account for why Riah was wrapped naked around him instead of pointing his SIG at his head, this time with the intent of killing him instead of getting him to make love to her. “Actually, it worked in my favor.”

Riah shifted closer to him, wrapped an arm around his waist. “John—“

His mouth against hers stopped her protest, whatever it was going to be. He considered that kiss a preemptive strike given what he had to tell her next. “You’re staying out of this, Riah, staying where you and Victoria will be safe. The fact that you claimed you were trying to prove I was Alex Coburn so you could divorce me was pretty persuasive, especially since the agencies you approached confirmed it.”

She blushed before admitting, “I couldn’t think of any other way to get what I wanted. Word had already gone around about what you had done, that I’d been deported and the marriage nullified. I just had to hint that I needed confirmation to make sure you were out of my life, and most of them turned over what I wanted.”

Casey had been stunned by the level of detail she’d been able to acquire on him. Looking at her, he wondered if she’d learned more that wasn’t actually in the report she’d given her father. Embarrassment lit her face. Casey nearly asked her then what she might have learned to cause that look. He let it go, though, when Riah ran a hand up to cup his cheek, stroked her thumb softly over his lower lip, and admitted, “I don’t know if that was due to owing my father or due to some sort of schadenfreude at your apparent fall from grace, but it got them to turn over what I needed.”

It was probably the last, Casey knew, especially since he had made far more enemies in his career than friends among the agencies who had contributed to his wife’s investigation. He kissed her before he told her acerbically, “I’ve never exactly been the win friends and influence people type.”

Unexpectedly, Riah grinned at that. “No, you’re more the shoot people and intimidate them type.”

He shot a brow up, relaxed a little. If she was willing to joke, Casey was certain she would forgive him, so he growled back at her, “I didn’t shoot you, and you certainly didn’t intimidate. I was beginning to think I’d lost my touch.”

She shot a brow of her own up. “I just recognized your inner teddy bear.”

The recoil from that remark took him by surprise. It was a little too close to what Ilsa had called him, and the last thing Casey wanted at the moment was to remind Riah of the Frenchwoman. His wife paled. He watched, wondered if he would have to defend himself on that front again. He realized she looked guilty, that she was sorry to have reminded him of that. Before he could tell her it was alright, she pulled him down and kissed him. He opened his mouth, and she invaded. He rolled her beneath him then, and neither of them said anything more for a good long time. This time, Casey decided needy wasn’t the right note, so he did as he had done after the mess with Val. He made love to her, made each touch, each kiss a promise. When Riah lay twined against him and he was on the edge of sleep, he was glad she had done the same in return.

 

Victoria woke them about six. Casey was already slowly coming awake since he was conditioned to early rising. Riah began to untangle herself from him and from the quilt he had unfolded from the end of the couch over them. “Bring her back,” he muttered sleepily. She scooped up his shirt and pulled it on, fastened the buttons as she walked toward Victoria’s room.

His wife was gone for a while, but Victoria was quiet again. Casey considered going to see where they were, what they were doing, but just as he finally decided to do so, Riah walked back into the living room with their daughter. Sitting up, Casey made room for her to sit beside him. He pulled Riah back against him as she partially unbuttoned his shirt and began to nurse their daughter. “She’s grown,” he observed. Victoria had been a long, thin newborn, but now she was kind of roly-poly.

“She’s put some weight on,” Riah agreed, “but I was kind of pudgy at that age, too. I imagine she’ll slim out again. Based on Emma and me, she’ll probably remain relatively thin through most of her adolescence and early adulthood.” Riah’s hand smoothed over Victoria’s cheek. “I think she’ll be tall like you, though.”

Curious, he eyed Victoria, wondered how she might know, but Riah didn’t offer an explanation. He didn’t ask.

Casey reached around and stroked his daughter’s soft, downy head. “She looks bald,” he said, stroking the fine, white-blonde hair. Victoria had had what looked like a lot of dark hair when she was born. She still had a lot of hair, but because it was fine and pale, he had to look closely to even see it.

He pressed his lips against the side of Riah’s neck. “I’ve missed this,” Casey murmured against her ear. She turned her head; he kissed her. “I’ve missed you both.”

When Victoria finished, Riah handed her to him. She stood, walked once more toward Victoria’s room without an explanation. Casey met his daughter’s eyes. “At least your mom’s talking to me.” Victoria gave him a toothless grin and smacked the back of a tiny hand against his bare chest. He arched a brow and told her, “Clearly we need to get you back to the States and away from the savage Canadians.” His daughter made a kind of giggle noise. Despite the fact he was certain she had no idea what he’d just said, Casey decided it showed her intelligence. Before he could add more, Riah returned to the living room with a small pile of clothes. She took Victoria from him, changed her, and dressed her before she deposited her back in his arms.

“Thanks for cleaning up last night.”

Casey’s guard went up. He eyed her, wondered if the space she’d put between them meant Riah regretted giving in last night before he had finished his explanations. He shrugged off her thanks. “Gave me something to do since I couldn’t sleep.”

When Riah leaned against his shoulder, he freed his arm to slide it around her and pulled her closer. He considered how to ease into their unfinished conversation, but  
before he could, she asked, “How’re Chuck and Ellie?”

He tensed. “Ellie’s fine, though she thinks you left me because I fell off the wagon.”

It wasn’t hard to read his wife’s amused expression. “ _Did_ you fall off the wagon?”

“Spectacularly—on our anniversary.” Hurt chased across her face. Casey leaned over, pressed a kiss against her temple. “I should have at least called you that night, but the call would have been intercepted.” He leaned back, watched her a moment. It would be easier to retreat, explain that he had kept up the Thursday night subterfuge after Riah was deported, but, instead, he took the harder path. “I couldn’t take another moment of being without you, so I drank more scotch than I really should have to make sure I didn’t call you. If Bartowski hadn’t come over to ask something and his sister hadn’t decided to follow him and check up on me again, I would have probably risked calling you anyway.”

“I didn’t go on a bender,” she offered softly, “but I was miserable, too.” Riah looked up at him. “I wanted to shoot you for not remembering.”

“I remembered,” he said gruffly. “I’m never forgetting that evening, Riah.”

“Good thing I couldn’t cross the border, then,” she whispered.

Her mouth met his for a slow, soft kiss. “Next year, I’ll make sure I have leave so we’re together,” Casey promised. He’d do the paperwork as soon as he got back to L.A. It was no guarantee he’d actually be free on the day, but he’d do his damnedest.

“What do you plan to do about your daughter?” Riah asked.

His wife’s face was scarlet when he looked at her, and that along with her your helped him realize she meant Alexandra and not Victoria. Casey had given that a lot of thought, so he answered easily. “It’s kinder to let her believe her father’s dead at this point, don’t you think?”

It was easy to see Riah’s protest coming, but before he could launch into his reasons for believing so, she stopped.

While they were in Newfoundland, she had talked about growing up with Ariel and about the awkward dynamic of having her stepfather, Emma, and her mother’s lovers as part of the mix. He knew Riah had never felt like she had a solid place in her mother’s life, and he suspected that Alexandra would never really have a place in theirs. He wasn’t even certain he wanted her to because he didn’t want to cause his wife more pain by having a living reminder that he had failed to be honest with her around.

Casey had also considered what the girl would think if he told her he was her father. He didn’t want her to think Kathleen had lied about what had happened to him. Alexandra had spent her entire life believing her father was dead. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t like him, someone she didn’t know, turning up to tell her what she had been told wasn’t true at all. If he did so, he suspected Alexandra would feel betrayed, might never trust her mother again, and then there he’d be, this stranger who had apparently not given a damn about her for her entire life. Casey couldn’t imagine how she could ever be comfortable with him and figured she’d be suspicious about why he had suddenly decided to confess his identity.

It wasn’t until Riah slipped an arm around him that he pushed those thoughts out. He looked at her. “Perhaps it is.” Then she asked, “But what about you?”

Instinct nearly made him deflect her question, change the subject, but he didn’t. On the one hand, it didn’t matter. Casey wasn’t going to introduce himself to Alexandra McHugh. On the other, he couldn’t help a bit of curiosity about her, about what she was like.

It was entirely moot. He was never going to be a permanent part of her life. Even if Casey met her, Alexandra was an adult with a life of her own. He studied his wife, saw her worry and concern, and asked, “Riah, do you want a stepdaughter around, one nearly as old as you are?”

She wasn’t quick enough to guard her expression. Casey saw a kind of horror there before Riah’s spy face slotted into place. “John, I love you, but this isn’t about me.”

While he appreciated that, he knew it was as much about her as it was about him. She’d have to live with whatever he decided, which meant Riah got a say. “That wasn’t an answer.”

“Nor was your question.”

That was a fair observation, he reflected. Casey thought about it a moment and decided to give her the complete truth. “I could have kept up with Kathleen, and there were times when I was tempted to see where she was, how she was, but I didn’t.” Riah paled again. “It wasn’t to avoid arousing suspicion. It was because I didn’t want to know. I could push her to the background, relegate her to memory as long as I didn’t know. I think this, I think the girl, falls into the same category.”

As he watched her, waited for her to say something, Casey realized he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say his other daughter’s name even though he could think it. Perhaps it was what allowed him to keep her in the background, put her out of sight, out of mind just as he had done with her mother.

Riah, though, apparently decided to drop the subject. She offered to fix breakfast. Casey gave her a look, one that told her food was not high on his priority list. She melted under his heated stare. Their daughter was awake, would be so for a while, though, he knew, so they would have to wait. That didn’t stop Riah from pulling him down and kissing him a promise.

“What do you do with Victoria when you go to work?” he asked.

She told him about Isobel Gerrard and their arrangement. Casey was amused by the idea of Izzie as a nanny. Of course if someone other than Riah had to watch his daughter, he’d prefer she be someone as lethal as Izzie. Riah blushed as she explained that her boss trusted her more than the other analysts and had begun sending highly sensitive material to her. Casey wanted to ask what, but he didn’t, listened instead to her explanation that she had begun pumping breast milk for Izzie to feed Victoria since she couldn’t always be available.

Casey wanted her available to him since they still had things to talk about and since he planned to exploit the promise in her last kiss. He leaned toward her, kissed her hungrily. “Do you have to work today?”

It was easy to see she was tempted, but Riah apparently wouldn’t abuse her boss’s trust since she admitted, “I’m supposed to, yes.”

He doubted Riah had ever called in sick, but that didn’t stop Casey from deciding to see if he could corrupt her, especially since he was pretty sure she wanted to stay home with him. So he told her, “Don’t,” when he had kissed her once more.

“I’m in the middle of something important,” Riah explained, so he took her mouth again, worked to see if he could make her forget what that was. Casey shifted his mouth to that spot below her ear, the one he generally exploited because she turned to mush when he did, and he was disgustingly pleased to hear Riah breathe a moan just as her hands discovered he was still naked beneath the quilt.

The sound of a key in the door lock had Riah cursing quietly and trying to pry herself out of his arms. He was going to shoot V. H. on general principle, Casey decided, glad the SIG was within reach. He tightened his grip on his wife to keep her where she was.

Casey wasn’t sure whether to be glad or furious that instead of V. H., Izzie was the one who strolled into the living room. He muttered for Riah to be still since her movements threatened to dislodge the quilt covering him. As a result, Riah went crimson and tugged his shirt down to cover herself. He failed to point out it was still partially unbuttoned from feeding their daughter.

Izzie, on the other hand, was clearly amused. She looked at Riah. “V. H. called and told me you had company,” she told his wife. “He also suggested you might like a day off. You’re not to go in today. He told Dave Victoria’s got a sniffle.” As he watched her set her bag down and step toward them, Casey considered forgiving her since she brought that bit of good news. Her look turned mocking as she greeted him. “Casey.”

“Izzie,” he returned guardedly, aware Riah now eyed him suspiciously.

“V. H. had a message for you as well,” the older woman said cheerfully. One of Casey’s brows shot up. “He said to remind you to do more than molest his daughter today.” Returning her attention to Riah, she added, “I’ll take Victoria to do some shopping. We’ll be gone for a couple of hours. If you want more time alone with Casey, we can decide what to do then.”

When Victoria had been bundled into a coat and hat and buckled into her stroller, Izzie wheeled her out of the apartment, leaving them alone. Riah looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Izzie?”

He blushed, to her obvious amusement. Casey hoped she was still amused when he explained. “We did a job together once. Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

Her lips twitched, but Riah’s eyes were cold. “Actually, that just makes me want to know more.”

So he told her. “We were in Windsor. Your dad and Izzie needed to get some documents out of a strip club safe. The owner spied for the Chinese, and the goon who ran the place was suspicious. He kept eyeing Izzie. We weren’t sure how to get past him and his muscle, but then your dad whispered to Izzie that she should just pretend to audition as a stripper. Izzie pointed out they’d make her take her clothes off, and your dad dared her to do it.” Casey vividly remembered the eye-popping show Izzie put on as she stripped down to her holster and a pair of panties that had proven nearly as obscene as some of his wife’s.

“Did she?” Riah asked faintly.

Casey grinned, nearly regretted it when his wife’s eyes narrowed. “It provided a distraction so we could get the job done.”

It was obvious she was trying to figure out if he and Izzie had had a thing.

“Izzie loved her husband, Riah. She never had eyes for anyone but Don Gerrard.”

“That sounds like you would have been interested if she hadn’t,” she said in a voice that could have given him frostbite.

“Izzie’s still a good-looking woman, Riah,” he told her, even though he knew it was the wrong thing to say, and warily watched her reaction. “She was even more so then, but all I ever did was look.”

V. H., he reflected, had tried to more than look.

In the face of her obvious doubt, Casey met her eyes, held her gaze and said quite clearly, “I mean it, Riah. _You_. Only you.”

“I need you to tell me, John,” she said quietly.

This was the part where he had to talk—and not about Izzie. Casey knew he couldn’t avoid it any longer. He explained about his life as Alex Coburn, figured it was fair game rather than a state secret since she knew the basic facts. He explained about meeting Kathleen, he described their courtship, he told Riah about proposing to her in Buffalo, and he told her about leaving Kathleen behind. He told Riah again how he had chosen not to keep tabs on her, admitted it was because he had been afraid of what he might do if he knew about her and her life, even from a distance.

There was a moment when he was sure that had been a mistake since Riah’s face went hard and pale and her eyes turned stormy. She didn’t say a word, though, so Casey continued, told her again he hadn’t known about the girl, didn’t know what he would have done had he known, and then he told Riah yet again that he loved her and Victoria, that none of this changed that. He was happy where he was, happy with her and with their daughter.

When she simply sat there and looked at him, he didn’t know what to do or say. He waited. Just as he was about to give in and plead his case, convince her not to throw him out, Riah let out a shaky sigh and asked, “Is that all of it?”

Instead of speaking, Casey nodded, never once took his eyes from hers.

“Is there anything else you haven’t told me that I need to know?”

It was a loaded question, one he wasn’t sure he could honestly answer, but he decided he had to. Casey sifted through his prior relationships—most of which couldn’t really be called that—and started explaining. It was probably better to tell her than to have Riah find out. Even as he thought that, he realized she might already know, depending on what had been in the files those other agencies provided.

When he finished, Riah looked considerably less hostile, but she certainly didn’t look happy. Finally, she breathed deeply, and said, “Okay.”

He cocked his head, frowned at her. _What did that mean?_

She apparently recognized her response was lacking. “I want a very particular promise from you, John.”

“Depending on what it is, Riah, you know I might not be able to keep it.”

“This one you can,” she assured him. He waited. After a moment, Riah told him, “I want your promise that this is it. I want your promise that there will be no more surprises like these, that there’s nothing else in your past that will either separate us or allow someone to separate us.”

For a second he considered asking about her own past, but Casey was pretty sure he knew about all of her ghosts. “I promise,” he told her. “There aren’t any others.” He pulled Riah close and added, “Now I need a promise from you.”

Baffled, she leaned away from him. “Alright.”

“On the off chance I forgot something, I need you to promise me that if something else comes up, you’ll hear me out before you do anything.”

Her body relaxed. “I promise.” Her face was solemn. “I suppose I should add a caveat to all these promises.”

His brow cranked up.

She chewed her lower lip a bit. “Obviously, there weren’t other men, and I can’t say I had any relationships that might have blowback like this, but I also can’t promise there aren’t things I don’t remember or don’t know that might cause us problems.”

Her obvious concern had Casey leaning in to kiss her. “Understood.” Riah’s arms went around him again. “Think we could continue this in your bedroom?”

They gathered their clothes. Casey made a detour to grab his bag. Riah took his now rumpled suit and hung it in the closet. When she closed the closet door, she found him holding the photograph Ellie had taken of the two of them. “When you were in the hospital,” he said quietly, “I was surprised to see this.”

“I asked Ellie for it after you had gone,” she told him. “I brought it with me, but I decided to leave it here.”

He sat the photograph back on her dresser and pulled her against him. “I have the other one from that day in my bag,” Casey told her. “I’ve carried it with me since Beckman reassigned me.”

“I wondered what happened to it.”

“My mother thought I was robbing the cradle when I showed it to her.”

She ran her hands up his bare chest. Casey worried when Riah didn’t smile. She met his eyes. “You know, Jane was the main reason I didn’t believe what they told me.”

He tilted his head to one side. “Yeah?”

Riah nodded. “I couldn’t believe a whole family, a whole town, for that matter, would play along with your cover. Besides, your mother strikes me as a very no-nonsense kind of woman.”

It was true, and probably partly why Casey was the way he was. Since they were on things they hadn’t expected, he said, “V. H. showed me the report you gave him. How did you get those records from Costa Gravas?”

Color crept up his wife’s face. “I asked for them.” He stared at her, astonished. Goya might have thanked him for saving his life, but the commie bastard was unlikely to have helped his wife on Casey’s behalf. Riah explained, “Antonio Suarez and I know each other well. He and I worked Goya’s protection detail together more than once. I asked him if I could see the Generalissimo when he was here last month. Goya told me to let it go, though he did concede he found it hard to believe you would do what you stood accused of doing. Two days later, Suarez gave me their dossier on you and the file on Coburn’s death.”

Casey’s brow cocked. “How many intelligence agencies did you persuade to give you my files?”

She obviously heard the testy note in his voice. “Seven,” Riah told him. “Three others volunteered.” Then she confessed. “I stole ISI’s.”

He was definitely testy when he asked, “Learn anything interesting?”

Riah suddenly grinned smugly. “If I tell you, I have to kill you—I promised.”

Pulling her closer, Casey ran a hand inside the still partially unbuttoned shirt she wore and cupped her breast. “Perhaps I can get it out of you another way.”

She quirked a brow. “Do your worst,” but then she smiled and added, “or best.”

 

From the boneless way she lay against him—not to mention the sounds she had offered up while he made love to her, he had definitely done some of his best work. “Well?” he asked sleepily.

“I got confirmation of some of your kills.”

Casey snorted. “That all?”

She rolled her head to look at him. “I got a rather interesting list of conquests.” Riah raised her brows, named a notorious female former European head of state who had not been on Casey’s list and asked, “Really?”

He went crimson. Riah’s lips twitched. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“Actually, I think I do,” he assured her. Casey told her how he had courted the woman in order to find out if she was going to sell out her country and its allies to what was left of the Soviets. He told her because he didn’t want her to tear into him if she heard a version of the story that misled her into believing he’d lied about coming clean earlier. Riah hadn’t really ripped into him over Kathleen—but she certainly had retaliated over Ilsa. He had honestly expected her to take several hunks out of him this time since she had paid a price for his past. Considering she hadn’t even been a schoolgirl, when this particular episode occurred, Casey didn’t think Riah could legitimately take offense, nor did she.

“I was surprised to learn you were the one who put the bullet in Ricardo Viejo in Plato Caliente.” Her father had protected Viejo’s rival, Ernesto Roja once. Viejo had temporarily overthrown Roja, and Casey had been sent in to see what he could do since Roja was a friend of the U.S. “It was a hell of a shot.”

That was too close to Alex Coburn for Casey’s comfort. “We all have our skill set,” he said without inflection. He palmed her breast. “If I were to get your files from other agencies, what surprises would I learn?”

She snorted. “Probably nothing. I had no lovers before you, and I haven’t done much as an operative.”

Casey murmured against her shoulder, “Izzie will be back soon.”

Riah pulled his mouth to hers and set about doing some rather fine work of her own.

 

When Izzie brought Victoria back, Casey sat at the bar with coffee and Riah’s morning copy of the Globe and Mail while she finished preparing his breakfast. She slid an omelet in front of him and asked Izzie if she wanted something. The other woman declined, so Riah finished preparing her own breakfast while Izzie lifted Victoria from the stroller and removed her outer garments. Casey took the baby from her and told her they could manage. When Izzie was gone, Riah sat beside him while they finished eating.

“So what are you supposed to do today other than molest me?” she asked, a small smile curving her lips.

“Your father is a bad influence on you,” he growled.

Riah leaned in and kissed him. “He thinks you’re the bad influence on me.”

Casey snorted. There was no harm in telling her what her father’s orders had been, so he did. “I’m supposed to convince you to take me back. Your father promised to shoot me if I didn’t make you happy again.”

“John, I love you. All I’ve wanted is to go home to you.” For a moment, Riah looked unhappy again; Casey realized he felt the same.

“You can’t come home, Riah, not yet.”

“When?”

If he had his way, they’d already be in Echo Park, but it wasn’t Casey’s decision to make. There were real risks in taking them home, and much as he hated to admit it, V. H. was better positioned to protect Riah and Victoria. “When it’s over.” To stop her protest, he added, “Your father and I—Beckman, too—agree that keeping you under your father’s protection gives me two less things to worry about. I’ve got to manage Bartowski, Walker, Grimes, Bartowski’s sister and Woodcomb, not to mention watch for Shaw.”

“Morgan?” she asked incredulously.

Casey sighed a heavy, pained sigh. Riah gaped at him as he explained how the idiot had learned Chuck’s secret and how Casey had blackmailed Beckman into making Grimes part of the team. When he finished, she looked dumbfounded. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said softly, “and believe me, you’re right, but the little weasel has actually been useful.”

She picked up her orange juice, sipped. There was a shell-shocked note in her voice as she asked, “How?”

He told her. There was no question Grimes knew more about Bartowski than anyone other than Chuck himself, and Casey admitted he’d actually been pretty impressed by the ways in which the bearded moron had helped him find Bartowski. Then he told her it was Grimes who figured out Shaw wasn’t on the level.

When he finished, Riah stared unseeing at the cabinets across from her. Casey waited, but after she didn’t respond, he leaned over and kissed her. “What’s going on inside that head of yours?”

She told him, more baldly than he would have expected: “What did Shaw gain by breaking up the three of you?”

Casey studied her. “He got the Intersect, vulnerable and without protection.”

Riah frowned. “He could have taken Chuck at any time, could have convinced him to go with him. He didn’t. It has to be something else.”

Casey had given a lot of thought to what Shaw had done, but he still listened as the analyst in Riah took over. She told him she failed to see how Beckman could continue to overlook how Shaw almost always further endangered Chuck, especially since much of it could have been avoided.

Curious what she might make of Shaw with more intel, Casey added, “Shaw believes Walker killed his wife.”

“Did she?”

It was telling that his wife didn’t seem surprised. “Red test.”

Riah simply nodded, added nothing else.

They spent time with Victoria, talked now and then when their daughter was distracted by a toy. After she went down for a nap, Casey took Riah back to bed. His wife hadn’t asked how long he could stay, and he had so far chosen not to tell her. The minutes ticked, though. He intended to make the most of them.

Casey, thankful she had decided to forgive him, still risked angering her again: “I’m sorry, Riah. I should have told you, but I never expected that part of my past to surface again.”

She cupped his face and pulled him down for another kiss. When she let him go, he moved so that for once it was his head on her shoulder. She held him for a long time.

 

They got up when their daughter did. Casey played with Victoria while Riah took care of several chores. Casey felt guilty for not helping, but when he offered, she told him to spend time with his daughter.

Riah’s phone rang late that afternoon as she shoved dirty clothes in the washer. Casey shamelessly eavesdropped when she answered. It was easy to tell she spoke to her father, especially since he heard her snort and say, “I see you’ve been taking communications lessons from my husband.”

From where he sprawled in the floor with Victoria, Casey frowned at her. Riah gave him a wide, slow smile and said, “I believe I will.” There were all kinds of things that could have been a response to, but he figured it had been at his expense.

He watched her face turn thoughtful. When she told her father, “I think we’ll pass,” and gave Casey a smile that bordered on indecent, he should have been prepared for her follow up: “I don’t know how much longer he’ll be here for me to molest.”

Casey grinned broadly at her, glad she wasn’t inviting company since he had to leave in the early hours and intended to spend what time he had left indulging in activities that only required the two of them. Given Riah had fully dressed rather than done as he had and simply covered what needed covering, he’d obviously have to inform her of the appropriate dress code once Victoria was asleep.

His wife laughed at whatever her father said while Casey wondered how to get Victoria to go to sleep early that night. “Funny you should say that,” he heard Riah tell her father. “He told me the same thing—about you.”

He made a face at her, one she read accurately since she mouthed bad influence at him. Casey caught her hand, tugged, figured he’d demonstrate what a bad influence he could be on the V. H.’s daughter, but Riah resisted as her face turned deadly serious. “We’ll come to you.”

As soon as she hung up, Casey rolled to a sitting position. “What was that about?”

“Dinner with Dad,” she said. “His place.” Casey martialed the arguments to talk her out of it. “He said we all need to talk.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

Her lips twitched. “Consider it penance for the freedom to molest me all night.”

That he could work with. “You told V. H. you were going to molest me.” Casey gave her a grin. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

Riah bent to give him a slow, hot kiss. “As soon as Victoria is in bed, I’ll be at your service.”

Casey stared, speechless, when she walked away.


	47. Chapter 47

Despite the fact he had no idea where he was going, Casey insisted on driving. When Riah led him to a small Volvo SUV, he considered making cracks about her owning a communist car, but he didn’t, mainly because she’d simply remind him, as she usually did, that they might be socialist rather than communist, which took a lot of the fun out of it. Riah quietly directed him to V. H.’s house. For some reason, it surprised Casey to find it was a modest suburban house with a rolling lawn.

They went in the kitchen door at the back of her father’s home. Casey carried Victoria. Riah smiled widely at the housekeeper, who turned from the stove and wiped her hands before she came forward to hug his wife tightly. Casey was glad he held his daughter since Victoria would make an effective shield if the woman got notions about hugging him as well.

“You remember my husband,” Riah said when the other woman released her. His wife introduced her as Mrs. Munson, who nodded warily. Casey tried not to be pissed that for the other woman the jury was clearly still out on whether or not to trust him.

That quickly turned to amusement when the older woman folded her arms across her ample bosom, ignored him, and told Riah, “If he marries that Debi bitch, I quit.”

His wife nodded solidarity. “I don’t blame you in the least.”

“I mean it, Mariah. I will not work for that ungrateful woman.” Mrs. Munson unfolded her arms and used a finger to tick off her points on the fingers of her other hand: “She leaves everything in the floor, she can’t make a bed, she leaves the bathroom a complete and soggy mess, she thinks my job is waiting on her hand and foot instead of seeing to this house and your father’s meals, and she’s a mean bitch.”

Riah obviously struggled to keep a concerned look on her face despite what Casey suspected was a desire to laugh at that particular list of sins. For his part, he thought the woman had given a pretty accurate summary of Wallace’s probable faults and wondered what else might have made the list had she possessed more fingers.

“She runs around naked—or mostly naked,” the woman added, “and I neither need nor want to see that.”

“Have you told Dad?”

“I’ve told him I’ll retire,” the woman countered firmly.

“Perhaps you should discuss your employment terms again,” Riah offered. “As I recall, Dad was pretty willing to accommodate you the last time you needed to amend what you would and would not put up with.”

Casey read that as the woman controlled Adderly’s house, but he figured the other man both needed and deserved that.

“Just tell your father I’ll quit,” she groused, though Riah made no promises to do so before they left the kitchen.

They found V. H. in the living room. His father-in-law stood from the couch where he sat reading when they entered. The other man took Victoria from Casey and kissed Riah’s cheek before V. H. shook his hand. When they were all seated, Adderly turned to his daughter. “You’re about to be really pissed off, Sweetheart.”

Pretty sure what was coming, Casey wondered how angry she’d be when her father finished telling her. They sat on the other end of the couch from V. H. His wife leaned back into Casey, who tightened his arm fractionally around her. For his part, Casey was well aware they still had unresolved issues, so he hoped against hope her father was wrong about how upset she’d be. He knew, from a brief conversation on the phone with his boss while Riah had been in the shower, that if her father and the General had been comparing notes, Casey might have to leave her as angry—if not more so—as she’d been before he arrived.

“I’ve had my ear bent by Diane Beckman this afternoon,” V. H. began, moved Victoria to a more comfortable position. “The U. S. Government has decided you are a national security risk, and your deportation order is not only going to stand, but if you enter the States, you will be arrested.”

Riah’s rigidity could have given a marble statue a run for its money. Casey held back the sigh. It was undoubtedly true that she was very pissed off, but the least her father could have done was put it a little less bluntly. “I assume this is because I managed to pull John’s records together,” she said tightly. Casey shifted next to her as she slid an accusing look at him. He avoided meeting her gaze but was still aware she narrowed her eyes at him. When she next spoke, it was impossible to miss that her anger had gone up several levels. “Or has this been arranged, supposedly, for my own good?”

Her father played stupid at that point, started asking Victoria if she had had her dinner—as if the six-month-old baby could answer. Riah stared down Casey, who didn’t appreciate at all that the other man had left him in the crosshairs with no body armor. She waited, her temper obviously simmering, for him to say something. Finally, Casey agreed, told her, “Yes.” Before she could start, he sliced in. “You might want to ask who thinks it’s a good idea.”

She swung around to look at her father. Casey didn’t feel the least bit guilty for throwing the other man into the line of fire. Her father gave her that innocent look of his that was anything but. “I think we all agreed it would be a good idea, but for the record, Casey wasn’t part of that discussion.” His face turned grim. “Mariah, Casey doesn’t need the distraction at the moment—that’s one thing on which I do agree with Diane. If you stay here, you have a better chance of staying safe, Victoria, too.”

It was pretty much the exact same thing Casey had told her, so he relaxed, figured she could hardly lay the blame squarely on him when he’d warned her. It was crystal clear that Riah was still pissed off, though, and Casey considered how much she’d insist he appease her—or if she’d even let him appease her.

Appeasement was good, but this conversation could have waited until after he was gone. That way there would have been no need to sit and make nice with the man responsible for Casey now needing to appease his wife.

“Diane’s biggest concern is that things seem to be escalating.” V. H. looked across at him then. “You and Walker have both been direct targets. It’s only a matter of time before Bartowski is, and if they’re eliminating the professionals,” the other man turned his gaze on Riah, “you go on the list if you go home.”

She nodded. He could tell how much Riah hated that her father was right. Casey didn’t like it any more than she did, so it was easy to sympathize with her viewpoint. While it didn’t make her any less angry, he hoped it would help her get over it sooner. He watched her struggle to contain her temper and was simply glad that it wasn’t directed at him. Finally, Riah sighed. “Fine. I remain in exile until they get Shaw and whoever else in involved.” It came out cranky, but Casey could hardly blame her since he didn’t like it any more than she did. She breathed slowly and then relaxed as well.

V. H. apparently decided that was enough business, and steered the conversation to baseball. Casey mostly listened, amused that the man still revered the Jays, and wondered if the other man stalled because he was waiting for Debi Wallace to turn up before they had dinner. Casey was glad when it turned out to be just them. Dinner was good, though Casey wasn’t about to admit that Mrs. Munson’s perfectly cooked prime rib wasn’t as good as his wife’s since he suspected the other woman would simply add that to her grievance list.

One thing he had noticed since Riah had first come to live with him was that his wife wasn’t much of a dessert eater despite her talent making them. As a result, he was surprised when she dug enthusiastically into a pretty healthy slice of a simple caramel cake the housekeeper served with coffee to finish the meal. V. H. was amused at his daughter’s single-minded appreciation of the cake and told Casey, “It’s always been her favorite.”

Watching her lick her fork, Casey sincerely hoped she showed that much dedication toward him when she had him naked later.

Victoria had eaten the homemade baby food Riah brought. Casey had given them his rapt attention as Riah spooned pureed vegetables into his daughter’s mouth. His wife wiped the baby’s mouth before she handed their daughter to him and stood to begin clearing the dessert plates. He hadn’t missed the look her father sent her before she did so, so he suspected V. H. wanted a private word with him.

“Let’s go in the den,” V. H. said when she disappeared into the kitchen. Casey followed him.

He and V. H. each took a chair. “I take it the two of you have kissed and made up,” her father said.

“That’s one way of putting it,” he agreed, “though I think your daughter prefers the term appeasement.” The other man’s pained expression cheered him. Riah’s father should know by now that Casey wasn’t about to take any squeamishness on his part into consideration. If V. H. wanted to poke, he’d poke right back. “I call it something else.”

V. H. cut him neatly off with, “I really shouldn’t feed that ego of yours, but she’s been miserable without you.”

Casey had been equally miserable without her, but he didn’t say so. “You will keep them safe.”

It wasn’t a question, so V. H. simply nodded, and dropped his eyes to Victoria. “You look awfully comfortable holding her,” he observed. “What are you going to do about your other daughter?”

As he had with Riah, Casey answered, “I think it’s best if I stay dead.”

He still believed that, but he had to admit Riah’s statement that she found it hard to believe he could just ignore Alexandra McHugh had made him reconsider a few times. He didn’t want to be a part of the girl’s life, knew he had no right to disrupt her life by intruding, but he was curious. Casey wanted to know Alexandra was alright, wanted to know she was happy, but he knew the only way to really know that was to see for himself. Those weren’t the sorts of things a surveillance report could accurately tell him.

“One good thing about the way my daughter was raised is that she’s pretty good at rolling with shifting family relationships.” V. H. rubbed his dead hand. “It doesn’t make her very happy, but she copes.”

“Speaking of shifting family relationships,” Casey cut in, “your housekeeper says she’s quitting if you marry Debi Wallace.”

The other man grimaced. “I’m not marrying Debi, but you might as well know Mrs. Munson threatens to quit every other month.”

It wasn’t his business, he decided, so he dropped the subject. He and V. H. talked shop, agency gossip, and waited on Riah to join them. When she did, Victoria was nearly asleep in Casey’s arms. He didn’t mind, would have continued holding his daughter, but Riah gave him a lingering kiss that made her father complain like a juvenile, then took their daughter. She settled Victoria in a bassinette in a corner of the den before settling on a love seat. Casey decided to join her and slipped his arm around her so he could enjoy the feel of her body against his.

Her father got up and crossed to a table that held a number of bottles, and Casey approved when he picked up one half-full of his favorite scotch. V. H. splashed some in two glasses and handed one to Casey. Casey would have liked a cigar, too, but he made do with the drink. Her father handed Riah the glass of club soda she requested.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, and then her father asked, “How close are you to stopping the Ring?”

Casey sighed before he said gruffly, “Not nearly as close as we’ll have to be. The Director didn’t know squat, as it turned out—or if he did, he isn’t talking.”

“So far they aren’t much of a problem for us,” her father said. “CSIS has had a few infiltrations, but ISI seems mostly clean.” He looked at Riah then. “It’s the only reason I let your wife come back to work for us.”

“About that,” Casey growled. “My boss is far from amused that your daughter broke her agreement.” He followed that with a hard glare since his conversation with Beckman had, in part, covered when their marriage would be declared valid again. Beckman had told him that when Riah went back to ISI, she negated the deal that had allowed them to marry in the first place. Then she had coldly told him, “And don’t think I’m not aware the two of you married before she resigned in the first place.”

“Your boss broke the agreement on her end first,” her father returned. “I merely exploited it.”

Riah shifted beside him. He suspected she’d prefer he simply let it go, but he wasn’t in the mood. “ _My wife,_ ” and Casey gave special emphasis to those words, “is not a pawn.”

“ _My daughter_ ,” and like Casey, her father stressed those words, “ _is_ a pawn, like it or not. I expected you to take better care of her.”

That was several steps over the line as far as Casey was concerned, so he snapped back, “I do take care of my wife. Why do you think I’m not insisting you let her come home?”

“My daughter,” her father began again, but Riah had clearly reached the end of her patience.

“Has had enough.” She punctuated each word forcefully so that neither of them could ignore her meaning. Riah looked at her father. “My husband is taking me and our daughter back to my apartment. You are going to ignore us until he has to leave.” She looked over her shoulder at Casey, who was careful to make sure his pleasure at her taking her father to task didn’t show on his face. “You are not going to say anything that lets him go on about us molesting each other or anything else that supposedly upsets him.” He kept his expression blank, but she must have seen something of what he thought because her face flamed. After all, she’d promised to service him the second their daughter was in bed. Riah added softly, “If you upset him, I will _not_ molest you tonight.”

Her father was the one who whined. Casey considered joining him, but since it was obvious she would be a woman of her word, he wisely refrained. Her father, for his part, sighed and said he’d help her get Victoria’s things.

Riah hugged her father when she had buckled Victoria into her car seat and straightened to say good night to him. He kissed her cheek and looked across at where Casey stood beside the driver’s door. “Keep them safe,” V. H. said. Casey nodded.

On the way home, she slid her hand onto his thigh. Casey’s mind was on what his wife had promised and what he might ask of her in light of that promise, so the stroke of Riah’s hand up his thigh had him pushing the accelerator a fraction harder. He nearly moaned when she stroked his thigh again, especially when she trailed her fingertips lightly up the inside and over his crotch before she let them stroke downward again. Casey caught her hand before she started the upstroke again and ground out her name. “I don’t need to wreck the car because you’ve decided to assault me in it.”

“I haven’t begun to seduce you, John,” she told him in a soft, throaty voice that almost had him finding a quiet, deserted road. He probably would have if Victoria hadn’t made a noise in the back seat. With any luck, the police wouldn’t pull him over for speeding before they got back to Riah’s.

As they came off the elevator on her apartment’s floor, he nodded at the two men there, but when they reached Riah’s door, she swiftly unlocked it, turned to the man stationed outside it, and said with a wide smile, “If you hear my husband scream, just ignore it.”

Casey felt his face burn until well after his wife bathed their daughter, nursed her and put her to bed. He wondered when the ISI operative outside finally got over his own shock.

Once in her room, Riah started stripping his clothes from him, but he stopped her. She looked at him, cranked up a brow, and asked, “You’re going to waste time talking, aren’t you?”

He couldn’t stop the snort. Instead of saying what he’d intended, that there were still things they should discuss before he left, Casey changed his mind. “I thought you promised to be at my service.”

She cocked her head, planted her hands on her hips and raised her brows. “I believe,” she said slowly as though he might be a halfwit—and admittedly he could be once she got started on his body, “that’s exactly what I was about to do.”

Casey considered giving in, but then he changed his mind. He stepped forward and then cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. He started slowly, waited until Riah parted her lips and kissed back before he stepped closer and pulled her against him. Jesus, she felt good, tasted good, but he didn’t want to waste time waiting for her to make up her mind what to do to him. He figured he’d take the guesswork out of it for her. When he released her mouth, he told her gruffly, “Continue what you were doing.”

Her hands went to work on his clothes, and his did the same on hers. Since he wore less and she’d had a head start, she had his off him before he was quite finished with hers. One thing Casey appreciated about Riah was that she wasn’t good at remaining idle. On the other hand, if she wasn’t careful, he was going to disappoint her, so he batted her hands away, grunted for her to wait, and finished what he was doing. When she was naked as well, he reached for her, but she flattened her hands on his chest, gave him a sultry look, and shoved for all she was worth.

Casey went down on her bed where he sprawled across it, startled at first. He was about to tell her she only managed that because he wasn’t expecting it, but Riah was on him before he could even open his mouth. She kissed the breath out of him then bit his ear, soothed it with her tongue, and whispered, “I believe I promised service, but I think I’ll take what I want first.”

There was a moment where he considered protesting, nearly pointed out that she was reneging on her offer, but then he realized he was going to get what he wanted anyway, so he said, “Carry on.”

She did. She definitely did. Casey began to wonder how she managed to have her hands and mouth everywhere at once. It seemed that way, anyway. Since Riah didn’t protest when his hands glided over her waist onto her back, he got involved, touched, tasted what he could, but he didn’t roll her beneath him. He was going to make her take what she wanted since she had demanded so very nicely.

He left his hands on her back when she headed south, let her slide beneath them as her mouth worked its way down to where her hands made themselves almost a little too useful. Then her mouth closed over him, and he lost all ability to think. His hands buried themselves in her hair while he focused intently on the slide of her hot little mouth over him, on the feel of her hands—one wrapped around the base of his dick and the other fondling his balls. His fingers tightened against her skull as she moved up and down, her tongue doing that thing she’d picked up from her aunt’s sex book. She picked up the pace, and Casey wondered how loud he was when he came, sincerely hoped the operative outside Riah’s door did as she had commanded.

His thoughts cleared about the time that mouth of hers worked its way up to the base of his throat. Casey wasn’t certain he could move just yet, barely noticed his hands were still tangled in her hair. “I think that counted as service,” he noted sleepily, “but I’m damned if I can figure out how that was taking what you want.”

Her teeth lightly bit his throat, and then her tongue swiped over it. Riah nibbled further up toward his jaw before telling him, “I wanted to do that, and when things solidify for you, I’ll take my own satisfaction.”

The grin might be permanent, he thought, as she nipped along his jaw, over his chin, kissed over his face but evaded his mouth. “You could speed things along by returning to what you were doing,” he hinted as Riah nibbled down the other side of his neck.

Casey felt her snort over his collarbone. “You’re not in charge, John,” she chided and returned to tasting her way along various parts of his body. He noticed, after a little while, that Riah was evading what should be the point. About to call her attention to it, she finally took his mouth, pressed her body along his, and he decided her assistance wasn’t completely necessary.

Riah went astride him, took him inside her, but she wasn’t exactly gentle. She’d apparently been serious about taking what she wanted from him, so when he moved to grab her hips, she batted his hands away. Casey noticed she didn’t mind when he reached for her breasts, though, so he contented himself with letting her do the work while he stroked, cradled, squeezed, though she did let him hang on to her hips when she was close, let him help. He gave her a moment, let her get her breathe a little, and then he rolled her over and took his own pleasure.

That purr of hers came when he pulled her against him and settled on his side facing her. One of Riah’s arms slipped over his waist as she tipped her face toward his. He kissed her. “Don’t go to sleep yet.”

She made a faint grumble.

“I need to talk to you,” he told her.

“In the morning,” she grumbled.

He breathed in deeply before he admitted, “That’s just it.”

Riah raised her head; all signs of sleepiness were suddenly gone.

“I have to leave by four,” Casey confessed. He wasn’t going home on a commercial flight. Instead, he was hitching a ride with a government official back to D.C. where he’d meet with Beckman once more and then go back to Los Angeles. As he explained this, he watched her face go blank again.

She sighed, ran a hand up his chest to his shoulder and reached to kiss him. “Then you have appeasing to do.”

“Later, okay?” He really did need to talk to her first. Riah nodded, settled her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know when things will come to a head,” Casey admitted. “Until it does, you and Victoria are better off here.”

“I’ve heard this lecture several times, John,” she reminded him, and she sounded a little pissed.

“Don’t take risks, Riah,” he said. “I mean it. Don’t do anything that will draw the kind of attention that puts you or Victoria in jeopardy.”

“I don’t take risks,” she said tightly. “Even if I wanted to, neither Mrs. Gerrard nor my father would let me.”

He must have been tired because he asked something he’d been wondering but figured might start an argument. “Is there a reason you call Izzie that?”

Color bloomed on her face, and her eyes dropped. Casey was glad they had left the lights on so he could see the deep blush. “She scares the hell out of me.”

Casey laughed. Izzie could be scary as hell, it was true, but he knew she was fond of his wife and unlikely to do anything that would either hurt or scare Riah.

“It isn’t funny,” Riah growled.

That only made him laugh harder.

“It really isn’t funny,” she insisted, but Casey didn’t get it under control until she threatened, “If you don’t stop laughing at me, you’re sleeping in a hotel—alone.”

He rolled her beneath him and kissed her. “You don’t mean that.”

“I absolutely mean that,” she promised, but he could see a faint hint of humor in her blue eyes. “I really don’t want to, but I would.”

Once more, Casey kissed her.

“Convince me I don’t need to,” Riah suggested.

As a result, he decided to seriously appease her. It wasn’t until he was about to drift off next to his already sleeping wife that it occurred to him he hadn’t finished telling her what he wanted. Perhaps it didn’t matter, though, because Riah had apparently decided to forgive him, hadn’t really even been angry that Casey had waited to tell her when he had to leave.

 

Riah insisted on getting up and taking him to the airport. Casey tried to insist she stay home, but she had given him that look—that hard, cold look that meant she’d do as she damned well pleased—and he’d given in. He insisted at least one of the ISI operatives had to go along so she wasn’t alone when he boarded his plane.

At the airport, the operative did his job while Casey said a semi-private goodbye to his wife and daughter. Riah eyed him and said, as soon as the operative was out of earshot, “Get our marriage reinstated, John.”

“We’re married—legally,” he assured her.

“No offense,” she said, and it was all-too obvious she was offended, “but I want papers proving it.” Riah pulled an envelope out of a pocket and handed it to him. “That’s the name and address of my attorney. Do whatever has to be done, but see that I’m sent the paperwork. Sheryl can see I get it.”

“Done,” he promised, kissed her, kissed Victoria, and then signaled the operative. Casey watched until they were out of sight before he boarded the plane.


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another good time for the adult reader warning.

Mariah’s head shot up when her father entered her office. He pulled the door closed behind him. She thought back to the last time he had done so. She sincerely hoped he wasn’t there to talk to her about Debi again.

Her father seated himself in the spare chair opposite her desk. “Have you talked to Casey lately?”

Since John’s visit a few weeks ago, her husband called her whenever he could, usually every two or three days. She explained that to her father before asking why he wanted to know.

“There’s a man downstairs looking for Mariah Casey. When Marge told him there was no such person, he asked for Mariah Adderly.” Her father walked around her desk to stand beside her. He pulled her keyboard and mouse where he could more easily use them and logged into the surveillance program for ISI’s building, zoomed in on the face of a bored young man holding a thick envelope seated in the lobby. “Any idea who he is or why he wants to see you?”

Mariah studied the black and white security image. He looked to be about her age, but she was certain she’d never seen him before. She shook her head. “He didn’t show Marge any ID?”

“According to the credentials he showed her, he’s Robert Flores, and he works for the CIA.” He stepped back from her desk and added, “I had him checked out. Officially, he’s in Canada as part of a commerce group working on trade issues.”

She stared at her father thoughtfully. Mariah supposed John could have sent the man to her, but she doubted it. After what had happened in Los Angeles, he would have warned her if someone official were coming to her, and he certainly would have told her what it was about. Beckman likely wouldn’t, but Mariah couldn’t imagine the General would have sent someone without having told John first. Besides, John was unlikely to commandeer a CIA officer for a job like this.

A sigh escaped her father. “I’ll call Diane and see if I can find out what’s going on,” he told her. “In the meantime, you go nowhere without an escort.” Mariah’s first thought was Victoria, and he obviously had the same one. “Call Izzie and tell her to keep Victoria inside and to answer the door to no one.”

As Mariah reached for the phone to do as he said, her father left. Isobel Gerrard spoke softly when she answered the phone. After Mariah identified herself, Mrs. Gerrard told her Victoria was down for a nap. She relayed what her father said and told the other woman about the man who had appeared at ISI asking for her. Mrs. Gerrard asked sharply, “Do you want me to stay here with you?”

She considered it. Mariah would rather have someone she knew than someone she didn’t, especially since she had rapidly reached a place where she trusted only a handful of people. She was certain her father would insist on around-the-clock protection. “Let me talk to Dad, and I’ll get back to you.”

Finding it difficult to focus on her work, she finally pushed the intelligence reports on Cymbala aside and took out her BlackBerry. Mariah was hesitant to call John. He had his hands full, and Flores was CIA. Perhaps calling her husband under the radar was the better option. She opened the e-mail package on her phone and sent a message to the address on which he had contacted her after he disappeared. When she had sent it, Mariah wondered how to make sure he saw it. She finally just sent John a text, coded, of course, before returning to the reports on Cymbala.

It didn’t much surprise her to answer a summons from her father an hour or so later. She made her way to the director general’s office, considered what he might want. When she was ushered in, her father looked grim. “Not surprisingly, Diane Beckman refuses to talk.”

Mariah snorted as she took a seat. She would have been far more surprised if the General _had_ talked. If Beckman had had anything to do with Mariah’s visitor, she would obviously deny it. Then again, Mariah suspected the General would have told her father had she been involved. She considered who might have wanted to talk to her other than the NSA or CIA, but she drew a blank. “You’re going to have company, Mariah,” her dad told her. “An operative will be with you at all times until I know what’s going on.”

“I want Isobel Gerrard.” Her father was about to argue, so Mariah added, “Since she’s already spending her days as my daughter’s nanny, she might as well be mine, too.”

She watched her father think about it. “Fine. Provided Izzie’s willing, she can stay with you at home. I’ll have someone escort you to and from work.”

“Mrs. Gerrard has already agreed.” Mariah realized she’d surprised her father when his brows shot up.

He nodded. “I suppose you got in touch with your husband.”

Mariah shook her head. She had reached out, but she hadn’t yet made contact.

“If you haven’t done so already, try,” he said.

Promising to do so, Mariah left his office. She knew she shouldn’t have been surprised when she picked up a shadow outside it. If she hadn’t known the operative behind her, she would have demanded to know what he thought he was doing. Mariah was tempted to stop in the ladies’ washroom just to see what he might do. Back in her office, she checked her e-mail. Nothing. She pulled out the Cymbala material and tried to get back to work.

Her mind simply wasn’t on task. Instead, she couldn’t stop turning over what the American might have wanted with her. If something had happened to John, she felt certain she would have been told, was certain Chuck or even Ellie would tell her if no one else did. She was equally certain that John would have been in touch if the Americans were now willing to let her back in the country. Since she’d received a message from Sheryl Ballenger who assured her that her marriage was legal and promised the paperwork was on its way, she ruled out the possibility Flores had come to deliver paperwork. John, after all, had agreed to let her attorney send that to her, and if Sheryl had decided to have it hand-delivered, Mariah doubted the lawyer would send a government operative to do so.

When the workday was over, she locked the material she worked on in the office safe and said goodnight to Dave. Her shadow picked her up outside ICOM and stayed with her. As she approached the lobby, Jonathan Hackett, one ISI’s better operatives, stepped up next to her and put a hand in the small of her back as he escorted her outside. Mariah flinched, pissed that he dared to touch her. She hissed, “Move it, or lose it.” He obediently dropped his hand.

She typically walked home, but this evening a car pulled to the curb. Hackett put her in the back before joining her. Mariah said nothing, knew it would do her no good to protest having guards since they were only following her father’s orders. At her building, Hackett rode up the elevator with her. Her lips twitched as she unlocked her door and realized he had not said a single word to her since picking her up outside her father’s office earlier that afternoon. He stepped inside Mariah’s apartment long enough to make sure Mrs. Gerrard was there and then nodded and left. Mariah suspected he would sit outside her door until he was relieved or she left for work the following day.

That irritated her, mainly because she had finally convinced her father to call off the operatives who had previously been assigned to her home.

Mariah could smell dinner, and she smiled at Mrs. Gerrard as she shrugged out of her coat and hung it in the small coat closet. She scooped her daughter up from the play blanket on the floor and kissed her, walked to the counter and sat where the other woman set a plate of pasta with puttanesca sauce next to a salad in front of her. “Victoria had some carrots and peas,” she was told. Mariah smiled and kissed her daughter’s forehead again before putting her in the high chair to her left at the end of the counter. She longed for a glass of wine, but she still nursed Victoria, so she requested milk when Mrs. Gerrard asked. While she ate, Victoria made noises, banged a teething ring on the tray of her high chair. Mariah smiled at her from time to time and spoke softly to her between bites of her meal.

As she finished eating, Mrs. Gerrard asked if her father knew any more about the man who had come looking for Mariah. When she shook her head, the other woman said, “Go get changed, and I’ll clean up.”

Though she felt guilty, Mariah did as she was told. Isobel Gerrard surely had other things to do than guard her and her daughter. When she had put on a pair of cotton sleep pants and a knit top, nursed Victoria and then bathed her and dressed her for bed, Mariah completed Victoria’s nighttime ritual. As soon as she reached the living room, she said as much.

“My husband’s gone, Mariah, and I have no children,” the other woman responded. “It’s nice to have something to do.”

“I’ll sleep in Victoria’s room,” Mariah offered.

The other woman smiled and said, “Keep your own room. I don’t mind to sleep in the baby’s.”

Mrs. Gerrard had cleaned the kitchen while Mariah put her daughter to bed. The other woman settled on one of the couches with, of all things, knitting. Mariah nearly asked her what she was making. She told the other woman she was welcome to watch the television if she wished before she picked up her laptop. She carried it to the counter where she could set it up so that Mrs. Gerrard couldn’t see what she was doing. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the other woman but more that she would prefer not to answer questions.

She made her way through her three e-mail accounts, ignoring the fourth—work—while she was at home. It was, after all, the last account John would likely use to get a message to her. She was disappointed there were no messages from her husband. She closed the computer and frowned out the windows at the city lights. “Call him,” the other woman suggested.

Mariah stared across at her. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised, all things considered. “Mrs. Gerrard—“she began, but the other woman stopped her with a deep sigh and pointed a knitting needle at her.

“And you can stop that nonsense, Mariah. I’ve known you since you were younger than Victoria. I’ve put up with it so far, but if we’re going to spend this much time together, it’s long past time you called me Isobel.” Her mouth curled into a slight smile. “Or you can call me Izzie.”

It was difficult, but Mariah tried not to betray that she knew how John and her father had come to call her that. “Isobel,” she said cautiously.

The other woman snorted. “Casey told you.” She shook her head and turned her knitting to continue the next row. “Your father and your husband should have both known better,” she said with a short chuckle.

Mariah walked toward her and dropped on the sofa facing the one on which the other woman sat. “Did you really do a striptease down to just your shoulder holster and your panties?”

“To those two’s eternal horror, yes,” Isobel laughed and then shrugged. “It got the job done, got the two of them a suitable diversion so they could get the documents we were after and get clear, though for a moment I thought I had done all that for nothing since they stayed for the show, so to speak.” Mariah stared, and Isobel quirked a brow. “I looked a lot different in those days, Mariah. I weighed maybe one-twenty and was pretty nicely endowed, shall we say?”

Choosing not to point out that the other woman’s body didn’t show signs of having changed that much, mainly because she really didn’t want to think about what John had said about finding Isobel attractive, Mariah remained silent. She had seen photographs of the woman seated opposite her when she was a young woman, so she knew it was true. “John said Dad dared you.”

Isobel smiled fondly. “Your husband wasn’t entirely honest, Mariah. Casey rather enthusiastically proposed and backed the idea, but he has the bare facts right: When I balked, your dad dared me.” She shook her head a moment, and her expression turned inward before she continued. “V. H. knew I never backed down from a dare.” Isobel set her knitting in her lap and levelled her gaze on Mariah. “Casey loves you, Mariah.” Afraid she’d cry, Mariah simply nodded. “Go call him. Find out if he knows the Americans are sending people after you.”

Mariah crossed to the counter where she had set her BlackBerry down.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Isobel said and started to gather her things together.

Waving her back to her seat, Mariah took the phone, opened the glass door to step out on the balcony, and automatically scanned rooflines as she did so. If they wanted her dead, they’d had opportunities through her open drapes—two of the “walls” in the open living area were floor-to-ceiling glass. She hit John’s speed-dial number and leaned on the railing, looked across toward Parliament Hill, while she waited.

It was odd how weak-kneed she felt when John’s gruff voice asked, without greeting, if she was okay rapidly followed by his asking if Victoria was alright. Mariah felt a knot in her throat. Every time she heard his voice, she wanted so badly to go home, but she had promised to stay put until it was safe for them to go back to the States. Before she could unknot her throat and answer, he asked, “Riah?”

“We’re both okay,” she said. “I called because— “

He cut in, told her to hold on a minute, so she listened to the noise on his end, listened as it faded away. Mariah wondered where he was, what he was doing. Finally, John said, “Okay.” She quickly explained about Flores.

For a long moment he said nothing. Just as Mariah was about to break the silence, he asked softly, “Did your father check this guy out?” When she told him he had, he made the thoughtful growling _hmm_ she associated with John calculating the angles. “Riah, I’ll see what I can find out from the CIA, but I can’t do anything from here—and I can’t come to you.”

She swallowed thickly. “I know, John, but Dad asked me to call and see if the guy was legit or if we should be worried.” Mariah sighed, straightened from the railing, and once more scanned the rooflines around her. “In the meantime, Victoria and I have babysitters twenty-four seven.” She began to pace the balcony, briefly wondered if his side were listening in on the call. She doubted, after all, that John had fully earned his agency’s trust back, and if they were sending CIA officers to see her, they might well be fully spying on her. “He called Beckman, but she wouldn’t tell him anything about the guy.”

It was odd how she could almost feel a shift in John just from the value of the silence coming through her BlackBerry.

“Who’s the babysitter?” he finally asked.

“I have an operative for back and forth and the office,” she said, “but Isobel Gerrard is staying with us at home.” John gave an amused snort. “By the way,” Mariah said, dropping her voice to an intimate tone, “according to Isobel, you didn’t quite tell me the entire truth about her little striptease.”

“It didn’t strike me as the sort of thing I should admit to my angry wife,” he said, his voice unrepentant though soft as well. “I remember the last time I had to confess to spending time with a naked woman when you were pissed off at me.”

Mariah thought about Ilsa a moment. “The good news is that Isobel wasn’t actually fully naked, I suppose, and as long as the last time you were actually in the company of a naked woman it was with me, I think I can live with a little—shall we say—distortion of the facts.”

“I promise you’re the only naked woman I’ve spent time with in the last year.” She smiled, but then John said, “I notice you’ve apparently gotten over your fear of her and stopped calling her Mrs. Gerrard.”

She shot a look over her shoulder where Isobel sat complacently knitting. “I wouldn’t say I don’t fear her,” Mariah told him, knowing she would be a fool not to be slightly afraid of a woman who had the kind of record Isobel Gerrard had, “but it is hard to think of a woman wearing a twinset and pearls and knitting something from fluffy pink yarn as anything less than friendly.”

There was silence from the other end, but then, finally, “Riah, you can trust her.”

Turning to lean back against the balcony railing, she studied Isobel through the windows a moment or two. Mariah did trust her, but she’d prefer to not have to. “I know.”

“Speaking of naked women,” John said, and Riah braced herself.

When nothing followed that statement, she prompted, “ _Were_ we speaking of naked women? I don’t remember that being plural, John.”

His snort made her smile. “I was hoping _you_ might be naked.”

The grin split her face even though he couldn’t see it. “Since I’m out on my balcony, I’d probably freeze to death.”

“Get inside.”

Mariah tilted her head, surprised. “I’m perfectly safe,” she assured him.

“Get inside, Riah,” he repeated, even more firmly this time, she noticed. Before she could repeat that she was safe, he made a threat. “I’ll call your father, and he’ll put you somewhere you can’t be seen if you don’t get inside _right now_.”

“John, you just kissed your chance at naked woman goodbye,” she told him tightly.

“At least you’ll be a live, dressed woman,” he shot back. Mariah ground her teeth and was about to tell him it wouldn’t do him a damned bit of good when John added, “I’m certain I can find a way to get you to be a live, naked woman.”

“In your dreams,” she bit out.

“Get inside and then argue with me,” he told her.

Mariah didn’t move.

“I’m dialing your father while you stand there figuring out what to call me,” he assured her.

She heaved the heaviest sigh she could manage and walked toward the door to her balcony. She slammed the door for good measure—loud enough for him to hear but not loud enough to wake Victoria, though it made Isobel jump. “Inside,” she snapped. “Happy now?”

“Not by a long shot,” he assured her. “I’d be a lot happier if you were here and naked.”

“Where is _here_ , by the way?” she asked to keep from telling him she wished she was there and naked, too, since it would only encourage John’s mistaken belief that he had a right to order her around as he saw fit.

“Home. Kind of.” She was about to ask what that meant. “Grimes lured a tiger into Ellie’s place.”

Apparently, her hearing deserted her. The image she certainly hoped was erroneous made her feel faint. “John?”

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “Tiger tore the hell out of their place, but the cleanup crew is putting it back the way it was.” She heard John give an amused snort. “Never tranqed a tiger before.”

Mariah had gone to her bedroom while he explained, and now she dropped on her bed, sagged. “You were inside a confined space with a pissed off tiger?” she asked, horrified as her imagination went to work.

“It was a pet,” he admitted before conceding, “but it wasn’t happy. Closest I ever got to big game hunting.”

She supposed she ought to be glad he hadn’t killed an endangered animal, though she wasn’t about to say so and be accused of being a communist again.

“About the naked,” he prompted.

“I’m fully dressed,” Mariah told him primly.

“Get naked,” he ordered.

Mariah blinked at her phone a second then put it back to her ear. “Why?” she blurted. “You aren’t here.”

“Just do it, Riah,” John coaxed.

She remembered why she was mad at him. “I don’t know why you think you get to tell me what to do—and don’t you dare say being my husband gives you the right,” she hastily tacked on when she heard him draw breath to do, she presumed, exactly that.

“Come on, honey,” he coaxed, and it occurred to her that he almost never called her by anything other than the version of her name only he typically used.

She chewed her lip a moment. “Wait a minute.” Mariah set the phone down and locked her bedroom door. Feeling like an idiot and sincerely hoping her father hadn’t had the place fitted with microphones or cameras—and she briefly wondered if she ought to sweep her room just in case—she did as John told her.

“Where are you?” he asked when she picked up the phone and said his name.

Certain she was scarlet from head to toe, Mariah admitted, “In my bedroom.”

“You’re naked?” he asked, and she confirmed it, sure she was now covered in a far deeper shade of red. “Lie down on your bed, Riah.”

“Where are _you_ , John?”

That earned her a dirty little grunt. “Our place,” he assured her. “They don’t need my supervision.”

Mariah lay down when he repeated that particular instruction. “If I were there with you,” he told her softly, “I’d start by kissing you.”

Closing her eyes, she imagined it, imagined it would be one of the soft ones, the ones that tasted, coaxed, and Mariah could feel it, could feel the press, the warm tingle, against her own lips.

“I’d put my hand on your breast,” John told her softly, and she could imagine that, too. “Do it for me,” he practically whispered. She put the hand not holding the phone over her breast. “I’d cup it, run my thumb over your nipple.”

This time, she didn’t wait for him to prompt her. Mariah ran her own thumb lightly over her tightened nipple just as he often did.

“I’d taste you there,” he told her, and there was a hungry edge to his voice. Her thumb and forefinger tugged at her nipple, and she imagined John’s mouth drawing on it instead. Her breath hitched.

“That’s my girl,” he practically crooned in that smooth, deep tone that set her on fire when he used it. “Next, I’d give your other breast equal treatment.”

She moved her hand, repeated what she’d done, and listened to her husband’s soft moan.

“Down your abdomen, Riah,” he told her, “slowly.” She heard his breath hitch as she moved her fingertips between her breasts. Her breathing quickened when she imagined the feel of his mouth and tongue where her fingers trailed lightly toward her belly button.

“I can practically smell you,” he said in a near whisper, and her fingers stopped a second while her middle one traced the edges of her belly button as his tongue sometimes did.

“Lower, Riah, but list to the side.”

She let her fingers glide toward her hip. A slight smile tipped her lips. If he were with her and doing with his mouth what her fingers mimicked, she’d feel the frustration he intentionally caused when he was in a mood to make her as crazy as possible before he gave her what she wanted.

Perhaps that was why, despite following his instruction, Mariah told him with a hint of sultry, “How do you know I’m doing as you say? It isn’t as though you can see.”

His soft laugh had a nearly pornographic edge to it that had her wishing he was truly there. “You’re a rules woman, Riah. You follow them.”

It was hard to take offense at that, particularly since it was true, but she wasn’t about to admit that to John. “Maybe I’d like to break them.”

There was a pause. “Yeah? How?”

“Get naked with me,” she whispered as her fingers returned to her breasts. His swift intake of breath told her all Mariah needed to know. She’d wait for him, though she didn’t wait to add, “Go to your room, John.”

“I’m not our daughter,” he growled in her ear.

“No,” she agreed, decided she liked telling him what to do for a change, “but you’ve been a _very_ bad boy.”

A particularly suggestive grunt escaped him. “You gonna drive?”

“Just get naked, John, and I’m sure we’ll find a mutually satisfying solution.”

While she waited, she closed her eyes again, trailed fingers over warm skin and wished they were John’s fingers, wished it was his skin gliding below her own fingers.

Then she felt a sudden flood of embarrassment, wondered why on earth she was going along with this as she hoped like hell no one was listening in.

“You didn’t hang up out of mortification?” Mariah heard him ask. She nearly did exactly that. Before she could question what they were doing, John told her, “Don’t think about it, Riah, just do.”

“I want you for real, John,” she whispered.

“Take me,” he offered, but her brain froze when she imagined him lying on his back in their bed, naked, erect and waiting, and she couldn’t get the words out of her mouth.

“Put your hand back on your breast, Riah,” he told her. Each time he told her what to do, she ran her fingers over her body when that soft, deep voice of his told her to. She slipped fingers over her skin, down her stomach again to her thigh, stroked up the inside, just as he told her and just as he’d actually done many, many times. His voice lulled her enough that she complied silently—if she didn’t count the increase in her heart rate and the uneven breaths, gasps, and moans as she listened to him tell her what he wanted her to do.

She imagined him touching himself, and she moaned at the image, heard a groan from him in return just before he told her to touch herself, to stroke, to slide a finger inside herself, to add another, to stroke with her thumb as she moved her fingers in and out. She gasped his name, but she kept following his instructions despite the tiny little voice that briefly intruded to suggest this wasn’t right.

It didn’t take much to stomp that voice right back into silence. It was easier when John told her to put the phone down, touch her breast with the hand that had been holding the phone. Mariah set the BlackBerry on the pillow beneath her ear and continued to follow his increasingly breathless instructions until she felt it, imagined it was John’s body and not her own hands that caused her to fly apart. Something between a whimper and a moan escaped her, and she heard John groan out her name.

“It’s not the same as being naked in the same country—let alone the same room,” she grumbled when she finally picked her phone back up.

“At the moment,” he told her, “it’s probably safer.”

Mariah slid between her sheets, pulled the covers up to cover her despite the fact no one could see her. “Is that your way of saying you don’t want more children?”

“Not what I meant,” he told her. She smiled, imagined that expression he sometimes got that said he wasn’t exactly sure whether to take her seriously or not.

“Any closer to eliminating the threats?” she asked.

John sighed. “No.” After a moment, he added, “Ellie and Woodcomb are headed back stateside. Trust Captain Airhead to contract malaria.” When she asked, he assured her Ellie’s husband would be fine.

“Have you thought any more about your daughter, Alexandra?” she asked.

“Riah,” he said in a tone that definitely held a warning.

“I’ve given it a lot of thought, John,” she told him, and she had. “Give in to the curiosity you’re bound to have. You don’t have to admit you’re her father, but at least see who she is.”

The silence stretched, and if it weren’t for the fact that she hadn’t heard the signal that would have told her the call had been disconnected, Mariah would have thought he’d hung up on her.

“I’ll say it again,” he told her gruffly. “She’s better off if she continues to believe her father is dead.”

That was something else to which Mariah had given a lot of thought. “Have you considered that Keller might have told others? Have you thought about the fact that she and her mother are unprotected? Seriously, John, her mother’s been a target once, and it’s only a matter of time before she is as well.”

“I don’t have to see her, meet her, to do something about that,” he reminded her, and that told her the two McHughs were likely under protective surveillance.

Her husband changed the subject then, told her he’d spoken to his mother. Jane apparently wanted to see her granddaughter, and Mariah told him she’d be happy to make arrangements for his mother to come see them. Then she remembered why she was in Canada and not California.

“Maybe I can get leave when this is over,” he said. “We could go there.”

Mariah smiled, remembered the first time he took her to see his family. “Only if Julie can catch us in the act again.”

John’s “Hell, no!” was fast and emphatic.

“Come on,” she teased, “you want to gross her out as much as I do.”

“She and Jan didn’t exactly catch us in the act,” he reminded her. “You know she thinks you’re hot, right?”

It was probably the disgruntled note that sounded like possessive jealousy, but Mariah couldn’t resist adding a perky, “Really?” She pushed a little further when he gave her an irritated grunt. “So I appeal to more than one Casey?”

“Yeah, well,” John said silkily, “no naked women for you, either—especially not my sister.”

“Oh, John,” she said on a sultry note. “I’m not at all interested in naked women that way or even in other Caseys—but I am interested in the only male Casey I know, especially if _he’s_ naked.”

They talked a little more, this time about Victoria, and when they finally had to hang up, John gruffly said, “Love you.”

Riah’s smile was huge when she said, “I love you, too.”

After he disconnected, she lay there a moment and considered what he’d talked her into doing.

She couldn’t deny it gave her ideas.

As she showered, she considered possibilities. Unfortunately, the leather and lace Gaultier corset John found so inspiring was in Los Angeles, but she’d had to do some shopping since she arrived in Ottawa. She searched her underwear drawer and found what she was looking for, and then she went to her closet and found her camera equipment.

Using the camera on her BlackBerry wouldn’t do for what she had in mind, so she set up the tripod, estimated the correct angle, and then set the timer before she climbed on the bed to test it. She made a slight adjustment and tried again. Satisfied, Mariah got dressed, so to speak.

Since she knew John liked her stockings, she opened a new pair and put them on the bed. Then she lifted the panties that would have John making comments about obscenity, she noted with a grin, and stepped into them before she pulled what there was of them over her legs and settled the two narrow straps into place, one at the beginning of the curve of her hip, the other about where the waistline of a pair of normal bikini panties would hit, and then adjusted the lace skirt that was really more a strip of scalloped floral lace over the lower part of her hip. She made sure the bow on front was centered. Then she wrapped the matching lace basque around her and fastened the hooks and eyes before she drew up the straps that would have done a dominatrix proud and adjusted them so that they fell where the top of a bra’s cups should have. Instead, the lace that passed for cups skimmed her nipples but did nothing to hide them.

She drew on the stockings, one at a time, smoothed them into place and buckled the attached garters to their tops. Looking in the mirror, Mariah made a few adjustments and then turned to look over her shoulder at the back. What she wore hid nothing, she admitted, but that was the point.

It took a while to get a photograph she thought John would like. Frankly, she was a little startled by how she looked in the photographs. For a second, Mariah found it hard to believe it was her, and then she had second, third, and maybe twentieth thoughts about what she intended to do. Finally, she gave herself a stern, mental talking to, and then she deleted the ones she didn’t think made the cut. She transferred the photograph she’d chosen to her BlackBerry and sent it to her husband with the message, _Not quite naked, but it ought to do._

After she’d taken the underwear and stockings off and dressed for bed, she put the camera and tripod back in her closet. Mariah heard her phone beep. The text was terse: _Trying to kill me?_

_You’re useless to me dead,_ she sent back.

 

The next day, Mariah realized she had been worried about the wrong kind of surveillance the night before. Late in the morning, she was up to her eyeballs in intelligence reports on a tiny dot of a country in Eastern Europe when her phone rang. She was intent on a satellite photograph as she absently picked up the phone and said, “ICOM. Adderly speaking. How may I help you?”

“ _Mrs. Casey_ ,” came the frosty tones of General Diane Beckman. Mariah had been using her maiden name, so to hear her married name bitten out as if the woman were talking to an especially slow child who’d committed a serious felony startled her.

“General,” she said quietly.

“I’ve already spoken to your husband about this matter,” the woman clipped out. “Now it’s your turn.”

Baffled, Mariah settled back in her chair and waited.

“If you and Colonel Casey wish to engage in phone sex, you should be aware that our agency often listens in on international telephone calls, especially those placed by our agents to foreign ones. Not only do we listen in, but we take a special interest in the misuse of government equipment.”

Mariah decided she hadn’t been anywhere near this embarrassed the night before when John had talked her through masturbating for him.

“Furthermore, _Mrs. Casey_ ,” and the General made her title sound like it might just get revoked once more, “I suggest you write this number down.” She proceeded to list a telephone number that Mariah dutifully recorded on a sticky note—if for no other reason than the other woman’s voice made it impossible to refuse had she desired to do so. “The next time you wish to send your husband pornography, I suggest you use his personal phone rather than the one our agency issued him.”

Mariah tried to stammer an apology out, but the General cut her off.

At least her voice wasn’t as iron-hard when she said, “Casey will not be punished as long as neither of you are foolish enough to abuse government property this way again.”

“No, ma’am,” Mariah promised faintly.

There was a sigh from the other woman, but Mariah thought she heard a hint of amusement when the General acerbically admitted, “Two of our analysts have had to be informed that if they don’t destroy the copies they printed of your . . . portrait, that it is entirely possible your husband will find out they’ve seen it, and should that happen, it would be best if they saw to it that their affairs are in order.”

John really would kill them—maybe not actually, she admitted, but they would likely wish he had. Mariah stayed silent, though, since she thought it might be the best way to get this over with quickly.

“With any luck, Mariah,” the General continued, “it won’t be much longer before the urge to abuse government equipment will prove unnecessary. In the meantime, use more private channels.”

After she set the handset back in its cradle once General Beckman had hung up, she didn’t know whether to hide in shame or laugh. She also wondered whether the government equipment Beckman thought she might have the urge to abuse was John or his phone. She was, though, surprised she hadn’t heard from her husband, especially since she the General claimed to have blistered his ears as well.

Unfortunately, her boss also had a thing or two to say to her as well. When her father turned up in her office at mid-afternoon, she could tell from the way he didn’t look at her face that he knew. He took the seat opposite her desk and stared at a point somewhere on her desktop.

She considered putting him out of his misery, but then she decided to wait and see what he’d say. “Mariah,” he finally sighed out, “I really did not need to hear you let Casey verbally molest you.”

Though it was embarrassing that her father had apparently listened to the recording, she was strangely amused that he placed all the blame on her husband.

“I especially did not need to see a photograph of you looking like something out of the kind of men’s magazine shops hide behind counters where your mother grew up.”

That did make her laugh.

“It isn’t funny,” he assured her. “I only saw it because I had to go see the head of International Affairs, and they were passing that picture around the bullpen.”

“Maybe you should be glad I didn’t send John a video.”

From the glare he directed at her, he didn’t find that remotely amusing.

Mariah sighed. “If it helps, Dad, General Beckman has a similar problem.”

That did get him to meet her eyes, and then that look she remembered from her childhood appeared on his face. His mouth straight-lined, and his dark brown eyes burned as one brow ratcheted up. “ _Two_ agencies are passing around nearly naked pictures of my daughter?”

It was funny that she was no longer embarrassed—or at least not as embarrassed as she had been—and she gave a little thought to that. Three years ago she would have gone into a dark depression over the mere thought that anyone knew what she’d done. Now, she wanted to teach her father a lesson about privacy instead of gushing apologies and considering hiding in a dark, isolated room for the rest of her life. “Picture,” she corrected, “but if it helps, I considered not getting dressed at all.”

Her father said through tightly gritted teeth, “It doesn’t help.”

“It was meant to be private, Dad,” she told him. “It’s not my fault if you and our government think it needs to intercept private communications between me and my husband.” She cocked her head. Though she very sincerely didn’t want to know the answer, in order to make a point, she asked, “If I intercepted your phone, what might I learn?”

Beneath the olive skin she used to wish she’d inherited, a deep flush ran up his face.

“Don’t answer,” she told him. She really didn’t want to know. “John isn’t going to tell me state secrets on the phone, Dad, so I suggest ISI, CSIS, and anyone else who thinks he might should give it up—unless they want to hear me have sex with my husband again.”

When he left her office, she was pretty certain ISI, at least, would not intercept anymore of her calls.


	49. Chapter 49

Casey could tell what the others thought, that he hugged Alex awkwardly because he wasn’t comfortable hugging another human being. _Idiots_. They’d seen him hug Riah often enough they should have known better. The truth was he didn’t want Alex to think he was about to throw her over his shoulder again, though he was tempted, given the way Morgan Grimes looked at her. He didn’t want to spook her, especially since he could tell from her expression that she still didn’t know what to think about a man who had befriended her, kidnapped her, told her he was her dead father before he gave her the key to a locker holding huge amounts of cash and several fake passports in a hidden compartment.

Even he wasn’t entirely comfortable with how they had arrived at this place.

It had started with Riah’s insistence that Casey try and get to know the girl. He had returned to Los Angeles after his side trip to see his wife and Victoria in Ottawa, and one evening as he missed them, he had given in, had begun pulling the files on Alexandra McHugh. There was a part of him that was more than a little pissed off that the U. S. government had obviously kept tabs on his older daughter and her mother. He couldn’t help but wonder why, though he knew someone, someone with the authority to order it done, had known he was connected to a rather ordinary woman, a widow without having been a wife, and her daughter.

According to her school records, Alex was a good student—maybe not a stellar one, but a good one. She was enrolled in a good college and was doing well if not spectacularly. That could be because of her need to work to help pay her tuition, Casey thought. Guilt washed in. After all, that wasn’t a problem Victoria would have when her turn came. He also smarted because he would have found a way to help had he known—a dummy scholarship, maybe, to help pad out the financial aid for which Alex had qualified.

A few days later, missing Riah more than he should and at loose ends for an afternoon, Casey drove to the little place where Alex worked. He sat in his car and watched her serve customers for an hour or so. When the place was nearly empty, he impulsively got out of his car, went in, and took a seat.

Alex was a little shorter than Riah, which reminded Casey of how his wife maintained Victoria would be tall like him. Kathleen hadn’t exactly been short herself, so maybe Alex was a throwback to shorter women in one of the family trees. She didn’t look that much like him, didn’t look an awful lot like her mother, and Casey was a little relieved she simply looked like herself. It made sitting there easier.

He hadn’t expected to like her. Like good waitresses anywhere, Alex talked to him pleasantly, gave him an easy smile. She didn’t recognize him from her mother’s house, but then she hadn’t even looked at him that day. Admittedly, Casey got out of that house before she could. Alex didn’t ask nosy questions, but she possessed the same talent her mother had to put people at ease.

A few days later, he went back. Alex had given him a sunny smile, something she must have learned from her mother, and asked how he was doing. “Fine,” Casey told her, though he didn’t exactly feel it at the moment. Earlier in the day, he’d had to listen to a fellow agent make comments about Casey’s wife. It had soon become obvious the man had seen that picture of Riah, the one for which Beckman had verbally torn strips off him about for putting government property to a very personal use. Casey wondered how many people at the NSA had had a good look at his wife wearing practically nothing, let alone heard them have phone sex.

Pushing aside the instinct to kill someone, he ordered what he had the last time: apple pie and black coffee. Alex said, “Let me make some new. It’s been stewing a while.”

He knew they closed in an hour, so he shook his head, told her he liked it bitter.

She raised her brows and told him, “I think it might be beyond bitter at this point.”

A little later Alex brought him fresh coffee. “You left me too big a tip last time to let you drink that,” she said defensively.

Casey knew most of the new pot would wind up down the drain, and he rebelled a bit at the waste. Oddly, he could hear his wife’s voice tell him to shut up and drink it. “Thanks,” he said. “You live around here?”

Alex nodded. She told him she was a student, named her college, and then added, “This job is pretty flexible, so it doesn’t interfere with my class schedule.”

When Casey asked what she was studying, and she told him. He nodded once more. He knew that, but she didn’t know he did. It occurred to him that Alex was pretty free with her personal information, and he wondered if he ought to tell her to be more cautious about what she told others. Someone else entered the café, and she moved off. He ate his pie, drank his coffee, dropped a tip on the table, paid and left.

He kept going back. Casey told himself he was just seeing that she was okay, could take care of herself. She was old enough to not really need a father, and he wasn’t entirely sure he could fill that role if she had. As pieces of the puzzle that were Alex McHugh were revealed or fell into place, Casey found himself more and more curious about the rest of the picture. He tried to vary the intervals, tried to vary the times, but he only went to the Pie Shack on days she worked. Her schedule wasn’t that hard to determine.

On his fourth visit, she asked his name. He told her his first name.

On his next visit, Alex noticed his wedding ring. Casey told her his wife was away visiting family. It wasn’t completely the truth, but Riah was, in effect, visiting her father. Alex next asked if he had children. For a moment, he wasn’t sure how to answer, but he finally said, “We have a daughter.”

He could have said he had two daughters, but Casey was more comfortable with the answer he gave her because it meant he didn’t have to make up any lies. He didn’t want to outright lie to Alex any more than he had to, especially considering everything she knew about her father was a lie—not that he ever planned to admit who he was to her. Casey suspected, though, that if he told her he had an older daughter, she would want to know about that girl, and if he had to explain, Alex might see the parallels with her own story, might eventually make an intuitive leap from the middle aged man who had started showing up in her restaurant to her own circumstances and think he was stalking her. He played it safe, but he was surprised by how much he had begun to want to tell her the unvarnished truth. That, though, was dangerous—to him, to her, to her mother.

“How old is your daughter?” Alex asked.

He told her, and she raised her eyebrows. “Late starter, huh?”

Casey snorted, amused. “What about you? Any brothers or sisters?”

She shook her head, and then she told him her parents had never married, that her father had been a Marine who was killed in a training accident before she was born. Casey noticed she was matter of fact about it, but then Alex had never known her father. If she was upset or saddened about that, it didn’t show except for a momentary change in her eyes.

“So let’s see her,” she said with a smile, pushing a hand lightly against his shoulder. Casey frowned at her, mainly because he hadn’t tensed as he usually did when someone he didn’t know touched him. “Your daughter,” Alex prompted, misreading his reaction. “I’ve never met a father yet who didn’t carry around pictures.”

That stung. He had no pictures of Alex, and he felt guilty, because he did indeed have pictures of Victoria. Casey pulled out his wallet, careful to make sure Alex didn’t see anything that personally identified him, and pulled a snapshot of Riah and Victoria out before handing it to her. V. H. had taken it the night they went to dinner at his Ottawa home. He had e-mailed it to Casey who printed it out. “This your wife?” she asked. He nodded. “She’s pretty.”

Casey felt color run up under his skin. “Thanks.”

“What’s her name?”

“Mariah,” he said. Realizing she might have meant their daughter’s name, Casey tacked on, “Our daughter is Victoria.”

Alex smiled and handed the photograph back. “Good name, Victoria,” she said, “old fashioned. I was named for my father.” Casey lifted a brow. “I don’t mind,” she said with a grin. “My mom loved him, and that makes it mean even more, like I have a piece of him with me.”

Casey focused on the picture before he returned it to his wallet, refused to acknowledge either the moisture that blurred his sight for a second or the impulse to tell Alex who he was, that she wasn’t actually named for her father but for a green kid whose identity he had used. Another customer saved him from the impulse by asking Alex if she could get a refill. Once more he dropped a tip on the table, paid the bill and left.

In half hour increments, Casey got to know Alex a little bit, enough that she started telling him about her classes, her struggle to keep her grades up and afford school, her mother, her sometimes boyfriend who didn’t seem to be able to make up his mind whether he wanted to date her or be her friend, and other bits and pieces of her life. Casey talked about Riah and Victoria and little else.

He liked this young woman a lot. Casey admired how Alex made her own way, took responsibility for her life and her decisions, and he liked her sunny disposition. He marveled that she seemed to like him in return. At first he told himself she was just being a good waitress, just chatting up the regular customer, but Alex started lingering longer, talking more with him. As a result, Casey found himself telling Riah about her late one night when, once more, he missed his wife enough he couldn’t resist hearing her voice. Riah sounded pleased for him, but Casey wished he could see her, could know exactly what she felt, thought, about him making a connection with Alex.

In hindsight, he probably should have known better. Casey wasn’t sure if it was the phone call to Riah or if he or Alex herself had been under surveillance, but when it all went south with Bartowski and Shaw a few days later, when he told Walker they had to take care of what they loved, he had gone to Alex. Riah and Victoria were safe, so he focused on the part of his family that wasn’t. As he walked toward the Pie Shack, Casey tried to figure out the best way to tell his daughter what he needed to say to her. He would have to convince her somehow, and that wasn’t going to be easy when every attempt he’d composed in his head sounded insane. Not for the first time, he wished he had kept something that identified him as Alexander Coburn. He had the photographs of him and her mother, but she was a smart girl and might point out the ease with which those could be faked.

He thought a moment about Riah, wished he could call her and seek advice. Casey couldn’t risk it, though, knew now the Ring would have an intercept on the call. He had, however, called V. H. on his way there with the agreed code so the other man would know to tighten security on Riah and Victoria. She and her father were spooked enough over the American agent who had turned up at ISI a few weeks before looking for her.

When Justin Sullivan sat down across from him, Casey switched to survival mode. When Sullivan said he never figured Casey for a dad, Casey took the opportunity to get the drop on him. Then, he reacted, went on autopilot. Alex was over his shoulder, and Casey was running with her to the Vic.

Now, as he escorted Alex to Bartowski’s dinner table, he took the opportunity to shoot a glare at Grimes. He enjoyed tormenting the kid about having Alex’s phone number, something he was careful not to do when she was in hearing distance. When it had all been over, she had told him she gave Morgan her number in case he had news about Casey. He had to admit he enjoyed making Grimes squirm. Grimes was about the only one on this mission he could still intimidate.

When they were all seated and eating, Ellie asked him, “When will Mariah and Victoria come back?”

Casey swallowed. “They haven’t lifted the deportation order yet.”

Alex shot him a puzzled look. While everyone at the table had had his or her cover blown in one way or the other, Alex still didn’t know everything. That his wife had been deported was one thing Casey hadn’t told her. Alex goggled. “Your wife was deported?”

“It’s complicated.”

Bartowski jumped in there, explained that Riah was Canadian, that when Casey got fired, they deported her.

Alex just stared at him. Casey recognized that Chuck’s explanation had simply confused her even more. “My wife works—worked,” he thought a second and then corrected himself once more, “works for a Canadian intelligence agency. Her father is the boss.” Alex relaxed a little with that explanation. Casey hoped she realized why he had not been totally honest before. “The American government deported her when I was arrested for treason.” He would rather explain that in private, so he turned to Ellie again to finally answer her question: “We’re hoping they let her come home in the next week.”

Ellie turned to Alex. “Have you met John’s wife?”

Casey froze. He reminded himself Ellie knew nothing beyond the fact Alex was his daughter. Chuck’s sister had made an assumption he had not corrected, had assumed Alex was his child from a previous marriage. Casey was surprised she had made no comment about Alex’s absence from their wedding or asked questions about Kathleen.

Alex shook her head. “No, but John’s told me a lot about her.”

If Ellie thought it was odd for Alex to call him by his name, she said nothing. Walker smoothly changed the subject to whether or not Ellie would still be able to accept the fellowship to USC she had been offered before she and Woodcomb had taken their disastrous Doctors without Borders jobs. Casey gave his partner a tiny nod of thanks. The rest of the evening went smoothly, and when it was over, he asked Alex if she would like to come to his apartment for a while and talk.

She had shaken her head. “I have a makeup final exam tomorrow, and I need to study some,” she told him. Casey had quietly pulled a few strings to get her college to let her take the exam she had missed when he sent her underground. He couldn’t bear for Alex to not graduate on time, to possibly flunk a semester because of him, especially when she was working so hard to earn her degree. Still, he was disappointed to miss a chance to talk to her openly. He walked her to her car, made her promise to call him when she got home, and returned the hug she gave him before she climbed inside and drove away. When her taillights vanished, Casey walked slowly back to his empty apartment.

To his surprise, he found Bartowski’s sister waiting outside his door. For the last several weeks, she’d treated him as though he were a leper. Given what her idiot husband and brother had told her about him, Casey could understand it even as it had irritated the hell out of him. He’d asked Bartowski if he and Captain Moron had added to their story, but the kid denied it.

“Could we talk?” Ellie asked.

Casey studied her face and then nodded. She led him to a table in a corner of the courtyard where he waited for her to take a seat before he took one opposite her.

“You really don’t have a drinking problem, do you?”

He shook his head.

“So where did you and Mariah go when the two of you said you were going to meetings?”

Because he suspected she was working her way up to whatever it was she really wished to say to him, Casey indulged her, answered. Any other person he would have either stared down or suggested they fuck themselves. “Truthfully?” Ellie nodded. “The first time we went to dinner. After that, we ordered room service at a hotel.”

There was a split second when he thought she’d ask why, but a faint blush stole up her skin as she realized what the answer was. Her mouth made a silent _O_. She blinked and found her courage. “I didn’t know what to think.”

He waited to see if there was more, but when she sagged, defeated, Casey threw her a line. “It’s okay, Ellie. Your husband needed to make sure you didn’t figure it all out. I wish he and your brother had found a kinder lie, but they didn’t.”

“I might not have believed it, John, but Mariah had a lot of bruises over the months leading up to that, and then there were her absences.” She blushed again.

“I’ve never physically hurt her, Ellie,” he said gently. “I wasn’t the reason she was gone, either. She had things to tie up with her old job, and there was her safety—and later Victoria’s—to consider.”

Ellie chewed her lip a moment. “She’s really a spy, too?”

Casey stifled the instinctive snort at her change of subject. “Retired—or she will be again as soon as the paperwork is done.” His government had to take care of things on their end before Riah could come home, and she’d made it plain that until they did, she would remain at ISI.

“So they let spies get married,” Ellie observed.

He knew she was thinking about her brother and Walker. “Not without a lot of obstacles,” he told her. When she met his eyes, he explained fully. Casey suspected Walker and Chuck were headed in that direction, but Walker was going to have to be dragged kicking and screaming. She loved the kid, about that Casey had no doubts, but she had been a spy too long to ever trust emotion, especially after that jackass Larkin.

That wasn’t something he could explain to the hopelessly romantic Ellie, though. In her world, people who loved one another got married. Despite her dysfunctional family, the loss of her mother and the multiple losses of her father, Ellie still believed that people who loved one another got married and stayed that way. She determinedly held reality at arms’ length when it came to love and marriage.

“I called Mariah,” she admitted softly. “I told her what I should have told you once I learned the truth.

Casey cocked his head, waited.

“I’m very sorry, John,” Ellie finally said. “I’ll admit you seemed a little strange from the beginning, but you were at least a grown up, unlike most of Chuck’s friends.” She sighed, pushed her bangs back and met his eyes. “I believed what Chuck and Devon told me because I wanted to, because if I didn’t, then something was wrong between me and Devon and between me and Chuck, but I knew all along that the story they told me couldn’t be true—I just refused to admit that.”

Having someone apologize for believing him a bastard was a novel experience for Casey, and it had been a very long time since he’d experienced any real novelty. “It’s alright, Ellie,” he heard himself say. “I can’t say I liked what you thought, but the subterfuge was necessary.” He remembered then how pissed off Riah had been when she learned what the other woman thought. “Riah wanted to kill your little brother for telling you that.”

Ellie cringed, and Casey took pity on her.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “No matter how pissed off she was—and she was seriously pissed off—she wouldn’t have done it.” He knew Ellie had made Chuck promise to quit working for the CIA, but he felt it necessary to plant a few seeds. “Your brother is a unique asset, Ellie. Thanks to your father’s work, Chuck is able to do things no one else could.” He thought about Riah for a moment, but he wasn’t about to tell Ellie her brother wasn’t really unique. “He’s been invaluable to our government, and it’s a shame we have to lose his services.”

“I can’t lose anyone else,” Ellie said in a firm, soft voice. Casey was simply glad it didn’t hold any hint of accusation. That was one of the things he liked about Ellie. No matter what was thrown at her, she simply put her head down and did what needed doing. He suspected it was that trait that made her an excellent doctor. The drawback to that approach was that it gave her tunnel vision, but Casey could hardly blame her for that.

“I understand, Ellie,” he assured her.

Ellie rolled her lips between her teeth and studied him. “You didn’t know about Alex, did you?”

Startled, Casey didn’t hesitate to agree. Her brother was good at the intuitive leap, so he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that Ellie was as well. Her sympathetic gaze had him spilling the entire story to her even as his brain reminded him that civilians weren’t allowed to know the things he told her. After what Ellie had done to save them and after the ways in which they had all deceived her, he figured she deserved the truth.

“She’s a nice girl,” Ellie told him, though Casey knew he had nothing to do with making Alex the young woman she was. “What does Mariah think about her?”

“They haven’t met,” he admitted, “but she thought I should get to know her.”

Ellie nodded, and then she added, “Thanks, John.”

He nearly asked for what.

“Thank you for watching out for Chuck and for Devon.”

She stood then, and Casey stood as well. He almost wished he hadn’t when Ellie rounded the table and hugged him. After a moment, he returned it, probably even more awkwardly than he’d hugged Alex earlier. “It was my duty.”

Ellie smiled and kissed his cheek. “I’m still grateful.” She frowned at him. “And I’m sorry about that,” she told him, pointed at his bruised cheekbone.

“You didn’t break anything,” Casey observed gruffly.

Inside and alone once more, he reached down a glass and the scotch bottle. Casey splashed a little whisky in the glass and returned the bottle to the cabinet. He had some work to do before he could turn in, but that didn’t stop the apartment’s silence from pushing in on him. As he headed upstairs, he pulled his phone out and called Riah.

She sounded harried when she answered, so Casey asked what was wrong, instantly on alert when he heard excited, angry voices in the background. He could tell something was going on, and given the lateness of the hour in Ottawa, it couldn’t be good. “Dad’s overreacting,” Riah griped.

“To what?” he demanded. He dropped into his desk chair and logged on to the computer. He popped open a message from V. H.

“Someone fired a gun as I left work tonight.” Casey read a message to that effect, only her father added considerably more detail in his message and stated that Riah had been the apparent target. V. H. had also attached a security camera video and a still of the man identified as the shooter to the message he sent Casey. Casey immediately began running the shooter’s face through the databases.

“Where are you?” he demanded.

“In Miscellaneous Affairs with Monroe, Travis, Vincennes, Dad, and Greenspan.”

Casey shuddered. He didn’t know Travis or Vincennes, but, like V. H., he had no love for Monroe, a hatchet of a female operative. Greenspan was more irritating than Grimes, if that were actually possible. Casey briefly wondered if there was something about short men whose surnames began with G. Casey had long wondered why Adderly hadn’t forcibly retired the head of Miscellaneous Affairs, especially given Greenspan’s gross incompetence at almost everything except being a superior irritant. “Why Miscellaneous Affairs?”

“No windows.”

“Where’s Victoria?”

“With Isobel,” Riah ground out. “I don’t suppose they’ve made any progress with letting me come home to you?”

Casey suspected that was about to go on hold if someone was shooting at her. There was no way in hell her father would let them travel if Riah was wearing a target, nor would his boss allow them home if their presence threatened Bartowski—whether the kid was on or off the government payroll. “Have you checked with Izzie to make sure they’re okay?” If Riah was a target, it was possible that Victoria was, too.

“First call I made,” she said. “I was about to call you when the phone rang.”

Casey grunted. The computer pinged it had completed its search. “Put your dad on the phone.”

“I love you, too,” she sniped, but she did as he told her since the next voice he heard was V. H.’s.

“Shooter’s suspected Ring,” Casey said, skipping the preliminaries. “Name’s Lee Nevins.” He scrolled, scanned the file. “Says here he’s CSIS.”

“Must be nice to have the good toys,” V. H. bit out.

He ignored that to say, “She’s my wife, and I expect you to take care of her.”

If her father was annoyed by the turnaround in their usual conversations about Riah’s safety, he didn’t say so. Casey watched the security footage as V. H. ran through what they knew. The video’s vantage point was across the street and of a quality common to security cameras in private businesses. Riah had been walking with two ISI operatives—Travis and Vincennes, he presumed—when the shot was fired. One of them shoved her to the sidewalk. Casey noticed she went down hard. He also noticed the glass shattered out from the window, indicating the shot came from inside the building. One of the idiots with her tried to drag her inside, but Riah fought him, finally got him to understand what had happened. It was about then that the presumed shooter exited the building, probably because he recognized that only Riah had realized where the shot originated.

“Was she hurt?” Casey demanded, and he realized that should have been his first question. He would hope Riah never found out that once more years of doing the job had conditioned him to act as an agent first and a husband second.

“Cuts and scrapes from the glass and the sidewalk,” V. H. said. The other man hesitated, and Casey got the feeling he wasn’t telling him everything. He was about to demand he tell him the rest, when he saw it on the video. Nevins turned, pointed his weapon at Riah, who was then on her feet, and pulled the trigger.

“I assume a doctor saw her.”

“Barely a flesh wound,” V. H. admitted. “She’s giving me this look that says if I don’t let her speak for herself as opposed to talking about her as if she isn’t here, she will shoot me.”

Casey nearly laughed at that, but it wasn’t funny at all. He wondered if Beckman would let him go to Ottawa, and he started writing the request as V. H. handed the phone back to Riah. “It would only be fair,” his wife bit out when she put the phone to her ear. Casey did laugh then.

“They get Nevins?”

The ongoing argument in the background got a little louder. “That his name?” Riah asked softly.

Casey confirmed it and told her what he’d told her father about the man.

If he’d expected Riah to ask questions, he would have been disappointed. Instead, she asked, “Are you alright?”

He hadn’t told her about the tumultuous last few days, hadn’t really had the time or opportunity to do so. “Yeah,” Casey admitted. Then he decided to tell her part of it. “It didn’t look like I would be.” He ran through the highlights, Sullivan’s attempt to take him, taking Alex out of the Pie Shack, her escape, his arrest, getting rescued, and getting Daniel Shaw. Casey left a few things out—nearly getting killed, being certain he was about to be killed, and the death of Stephen Bartowski. He figured he’d tell Riah the rest in person.

“Everyone is alright?” Casey could clearly hear her concern, knew she’d probably figured out he’d given her the expurgated version.

“Everyone’s okay,” he agreed. “Well, almost everyone. Listen,” he began, but she cut him off.

“Dad’s going to let me go home,” Riah announced. “I know it’s late, but can I call you when I get there?”

He agreed and let her hang up. Casey immediately texted a threat to her father that she had better arrive home safely.

Casey finished his request to visit his wife in Ottawa and sent it to Beckman. He then wrote a preliminary report about what had happened in Ottawa that evening and attached the photo and video footage which he also sent to Beckman He followed that with an expense report; a requisition to replace some equipment they had expended, some that had been confiscated by Ring operatives, and some that had been destroyed when the Buy More was; and a query about the status of Operation Moron (though Casey didn’t refer to it that way in the communiqué) now that the Buy More was gone and Castle had sustained some serious damage to the portion under the store.

His phone rang again about an hour and a half after Riah had hung up. Casey looked to see who it was and said hello again to his wife. It was late, even later where she was, but he was glad she called. “Before you ask, Isobel is staying with me, there’s one operative on the main doors to the building, another outside the elevator, and one more outside my door. Dad tried to convince them to put plywood over my windows.”

He could tell that pissed her off. She was claustrophobic, so it would make her climb the walls if her father got his way. “Tell me about the wound.”

“Like Dad said,” Riah huffed, “barely a flesh wound.” Casey growled, frustrated by what he considered a non-answer. “Through and through,” she added. “He got the fleshy part of my left side.”

“I’m pretty fond of your fleshy parts,” Casey softly reminded her, “and I don’t appreciate someone deciding to puncture them.”

Riah snorted; then she laughed. He was glad someone could. “It was less puncture and more furrow.” After a moment during which he considered making a crack about plowing and furrows, she dropped her voice to a sultry tone. “Perhaps you should come inspect it, Dr. Casey.”

He grinned and decided to hell with Beckman’s orders not to use his government-issued phone for personal matters. It was a pain in the ass to have two phones at all times, so Casey had basically ignored the rules. “Working on it,” he assured her. “Bed rest would be in order—lots and lots of bed rest.”

“That’s no fun.” Casey imagined the pout he could hear in her voice. He pictured her dressed as she’d been in the photograph she’d sent him.

Jesus, if Beckman didn’t let him go to Riah, he was going to have to get himself suspended so he could not only check on her personally but could also talk her into putting on what she’d been wearing and re-enacting what he’d convinced her to do during the phone call that had preceded the picture she’d sent him afterward.

“I would need to very closely supervise you during your enforced bed rest,” he assured her.

Riah’s _Mmm_ of agreement had him wishing he hadn’t started this. Sleep was already going to be hard to come by as it was, and that throaty sound of hers had Casey thinking about what they could do be doing if they were in the same city, in the same apartment, and in the same bed. “Knowing you as I do, rest won’t factor into the equation much.”

Because he needed the distraction from his sudden spike of desire for his absent wife, Casey asked about Victoria, listened as Riah talked about their daughter, and wished he hadn’t seized on the change of topic after all. Victoria was growing up without him, and that depressed him. He’d already missed one daughter’s milestones, so when Riah mentioned Victoria was apparently teething, Casey realized he was missing those of his other daughter as well. He wanted them home where they belonged, home where he wouldn’t miss any more than he already had in the few months they had been separated. Riah then echoed his thought: “John, I want to come home.”

“I’m working on it.” Beckman and Riah’s father would make the call, but he figured V. H. was about to put Riah and Victoria on lockdown.

“How’s your face?” she asked. Casey didn’t answer, tried to figure out what she was talking about. “Ellie told me she clocked you with a cast-iron skillet.”

“When did you talk to Ellie?”

“This morning—most recently.” Casey wondered if that was why the other woman had been prompted to apologize to him. “Ellie’s called me every week or so since I’ve been gone.” When she paused, he waited, knew there was more. “She’s upset she doubted you now that she knows, and I think she’s a little embarrassed she didn’t trust what she knew of you.”

“I guess she told you what’s been going on.” Casey wondered how much damage control he might have to do with his wife.

“Not much,” Riah admitted. “She told me about her father, but mostly she needed to talk about Chuck.” She paused. “She mentioned Alex was coming for dinner tonight.”

When Riah’s voice went that flat, it usually meant she was hurt Casey hadn’t told her something. “I took your advice, got to know her a little” he confessed, “and I may have to kill Grimes as a result.”

“Oh?” There was a wealth of amusement behind that single syllable. Casey remembered the night he had taken her to dinner after the Banff disaster when they had talked about the many ways Riah had considered killing Morgan Grimes.

“If you can remember any really good scenarios, I’m listening,” he told her, gratified when she laughed. “When we were taking down the Elders, Alex’s phone number dropped out of his pocket.”

“Ah.” Casey was glad to hear Riah was still amused.

“I finally had to tell her who I was,” he admitted.

“How did that go?”

“Not well,” he confessed, and he proceeded to tell her. Casey wasn’t sure whether or not to be upset when Riah laughed at his description of how Alex beat him up when she tried to escape. In hindsight, he admitted a certain pride in her skills, but while Casey was impressed, he remained a little concerned his daughter was so willing to take on someone so much bigger than she. He went on and explained how Alex had come to be invited to dinner that night.

“How’s her mother taking Alexander Coburn’s apparent resurrection?”

Casey knew he didn’t imagine the slightly frosty tone. He bit back a grin, knew Riah would never admit jealousy. “As far as I know, she still thinks he’s dead.” He filled her in on what he’d learned about Kathleen.

“Sooner or later she’ll find out, John.” Riah sighed. “Sooner or later she’s going to want to know where her daughter disappears to, and sooner or later, Alex is going to say something about John Casey that will need to be explained. She shouldn’t have to lie to her mother, John.”

He knew that, had known it all along, even as he had pretended he could just play customer at the Pie Shack and get to know his daughter a bit, satisfy his curiosity.

Riah changed topic, then. “I’m tired, John,” she said. “It’s been a long day, and I have to get up in a few hours.”

“You’re not going to work,” he ordered.

“Yes, I am,” Riah returned firmly. “I won’t sit here and go stir crazy all day. Besides, I’m in the middle of something that needs to get finished.”

“I think your father may have something to say about that.”

Riah snorted. “My father sent me the assignment, and he won’t trust it to anyone else.”

Intrigued, Casey wanted to ask, but he didn’t. She wouldn’t tell him, especially not over a phone call that might be intercepted by either agency.

“If it helps,” she said, “my building has a parking garage beneath. I suspect Dad will send a car for me, and I’ll never set foot outside either this building or ISI. I’m willing to bet my office is being moved to Miscellaneous Affairs as we speak, and I’ll have two or more operatives in lockstep with me until they catch this Nevins.”

Casey thought Riah might be naïve if she believed those were the only precautions V. H. would take. He said nothing, though, gruffly told her he loved her, and when she returned the sentiment, hung up.

 

The phone alert that sounded when Beckman’s text came through woke him at five the next morning. Her message was explicit: _Be available at 5:30 a.m. and don’t invite Walker or Bartowski_. His boss was prompt as always, and she started immediately. “The CIA is acquiring the Buy More. It will be rebuilt, as will Castle beneath. We will use it as a CIA/NSA joint substation.” Casey nodded. “While that happens, Colonel, you are going on vacation.” He was about to protest, but she added, “A courier will arrive within the hour with your boarding pass for a flight to Ottawa. He will also carry documents for your wife. V. H. Adderly and I have agreed that it might be safer, at this point, to lift the deportation order and allow her to return home.”

It wasn’t in Casey’s nature to show his feelings, but he had to fight the urge to this time.

“Colonel, in the interest of full disclosure, someone made an overture to your wife. Her father prevented the contact, but he and I are both concerned that the operative was dispatched from our embassy in Ottawa. I doubt the man they sent knew what he was carrying, but it appears someone was trying to lure your wife home.”

Casey frowned, realized this explained Flores. If they—whoever they were—wanted her home, then his money was on Shaw and his operation. If Riah had been here, they could have thoroughly cleaned the Intersect operation with them all in Los Angeles. After the Coburn affair, as Casey had come to think of it, it was probably clear to Shaw and the Elders that Riah would be unlikely to give up until she had answers—the right answers at that. “What was he carrying?”

Beckman grimaced. “We’re not certain, but from the chatter we’ve picked up, we believe it was a false passport and evidence you betrayed her.”

He ground his teeth, and his fist clenched. “What kind of evidence?”

The General read the menace and told him, “We don’t know since we don’t have the package. I’m certain it was fabricated.” She folded her hands and leaned forward. “The latest incident involving your wife has both of us concerned, Colonel. We know we haven’t identified all the Ring agents, let alone rounded them up, but we do believe someone wants your wife or daughter who plans to use them to get to you.” Beckman unfolded her hands, clearly uncomfortable. “Casey, you committed treason once for your former fiancée. The concern is that what’s left of the Ring believes you might do worse for your wife or daughter. We’re hoping letting Mrs. Casey return to you either flushes them out or defuses the plan.”

Casey thought of Alex, and then he thought of Kathleen. “General,” he began, but she had obviously had similar thoughts.

“Your daughter Alex and her mother will be placed under surveillance. In Kathleen McHugh’s case, that is all we can do without having to make explanations we believe it best not to make. Alex may be a different matter, especially since you have established contact and a relationship with the young woman.”

He heard a note of censure there, but in the last couple of months, Casey had begun to realize Beckman’s crusty exterior hid a soft heart, so he suspected that the fact that she was not taking the opportunity to explain the error of his ways to him meant she wasn’t as disapproving as she appeared. “I will leave any additional protection you believe Alex needs to your discretion.”

Casey nodded. He would give thought to that, wondered if Alex could be persuaded to stay in his apartment in Riah’s old room for a while.

“One last thing, Colonel,” Beckman said. “You’re to tell no one, Bartowski and Walker included, that you will be bringing your family home with you. Adderly is rightly concerned that someone may try an ambush.”

When he nodded, she launched into a discussion of the Buy More project and its operational procedures. Casey was amused that the government actually thought it could operate a store corporate headquarters had planned to close before its destruction, but he listened to her brief sketch of the CIA’s plan. Beckman conceded there were a number of kinks and concerns to work out, but she told him to cooperate as much as possible. From there they talked about a few security blips in southern California and considered whether continued observation or actual intervention was the best course of action.

After the briefing finished, it occurred to Casey that there had been yet another shift in his relationship with the General. She had apparently decided to fully trust him again, which felt good.

The courier arrived not long after he finished his conversation with Beckman. Casey examined the seemingly non-descript cardboard mailer carefully. When he was satisfied it had not been tampered with, he opened it, set his boarding pass aside after noting the flight number and airline, then picked up the sealed envelope he suspected held Riah’s American passport from the feel of it. He examined it as well, eyed Beckman’s signature across the seal and the other security measures. Satisfied it had not been tampered with, either, he opened it, found the passport and a letter of apology. Amused, Casey examined the passport, say that it didn’t have a tracer chip in it. He wondered what Beckman had had to do to get one of those.

He packed. His flight was in just over three hours, so after Casey zipped his bag, he set about doing the things he needed to, including walking across the courtyard to let Walker know he was leaving for a few days. Beckman had said he couldn’t tell his partner Riah and Victoria were coming home, but she hadn’t said he couldn’t tell her he was going to visit them. Bartowski came in the living room as Casey made his explanations. He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised the other man was happy for him. He was pretty happy for himself, though he could have wished for other circumstances—like not having had his family sent away in the first place.

Walker must have picked up on something, though. “What are you not telling me?”

She would persist he knew, so Casey told part of the truth. “Riah was shot yesterday on her way home from work.” He held up a hand to stop the flood of concern about to spout from Bartowski. “It was just a flesh wound, but since we’re standing down temporarily, I asked Beckman to let me go see her.”

He needed to tell them about Nevins, and it occurred to him it wouldn’t be a bad idea if the two of them kept an eye out for the fugitive. Casey told Walker he would e-mail the still photograph V. H. had sent him and the file he had retrieved on the man to her before he left. Then he told them he’d appreciate it if they could keep an eye on Alex while he was gone.

Bartowski looked suspiciously blank when he said, “No problem.”

Casey cocked a brow as his hand fisted. He barked, “What?”

Chuck shrugged, Casey amped up a glare, and the younger man cracked. “I think she’s going to be hanging out here some.”

Casey read that as she was hanging out with Grimes. “Tell the bearded troll that if he touches her, he will have a painful, prolonged death.” He reinforced the message with a hard stare and added, “There are ways to lift fingerprints from skin.”

It was gratifying to see Bartowski flinch even as Casey realized he’d just channeled V. H. Adderly. He bit back a smile since he thought the kid had lost his fear of him.

Message delivered, Casey returned to his apartment long enough to e-mail Nevins’s photograph and file to Walker and to grab his bag. He called Alex on his way to LAX, explained that he was going out of town for a few days. When she asked, Casey told her he couldn’t tell her where he was going.

“Job, right?” Alex asked. Casey felt guilty.

“Vacation, actually.”

“Seriously?” His oldest daughter sounded happy. “I bet you’re going to see your wife.”

Flabbergasted, Casey wondered for a second who had told her. “How’d the final go?”

“I just finished about half an hour ago,” she told him. “I think I did alright—and don’t think I didn’t notice you ignored what I said.”

He ignored it once more. “Listen, Alex, be careful, okay? If you see anything suspicious, if anything happens that doesn’t seem right, call Walker or Bartowski, okay?”

“Not Morgan?” Alex asked with a laugh, and it dawned on him she was teasing him.

“Definitely not Grimes,” he said. “Call a professional.”

“Can I call you?”

That feeling he got when he held Victoria shot through him, and like a kill shot, it hit him dead center of his chest. “Of course, but I’ll just turn around and call Walker, so you might as well save me the effort.”

He imagined the smile on Alex’s face when she laughed and then said, “No, I meant can I call you just because I want to and not because I’m in mortal peril.”

This hadn’t been what Casey intended when he started visiting the Pie Shack, but he knew now that hadn’t been true: he had hoped this would happen. “You can call me whenever you want for whatever reason you want,” he told her. “When I get back, you and I need to talk, though.”

“About Mom,” she said.

For a moment, he wondered if she read minds. “I talked to Riah last night,” Casey admitted, “and she pointed out that sooner or later you’re going to have to do some explaining about me. We need to talk about that.”

“So you are going to see your wife,” Alex said. “When do I get to meet her?”

He sighed. Why were the women in his life so tenacious? “When she gets to come home,” he promised, “but right now I have to go.”

Casey caught a lucky break at the airport. He had dealt with the TSA inspector on duty before, so he was cleared through the checkpoint quickly. He bought a copy of _The Economist_ and a copy of _The National Review_ to read on the plane before he took a seat to wait for his flight. He’d learned a few hard lessons about travelling armed with copies of _Guns and Ammo_ or _Soldier of Fortune_ , the latter of which he considered comic reading.

When he was settled into his seat, Casey considered how he might best supervise his wife’s recovery.


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, adult content.

 

Casey had half expected V. H. to meet his flight, but when he had picked up his luggage and looked around, he didn’t see the man anywhere. Surprisingly, he did see Monroe. Age had not been unkind to Monroe, but then nature hadn’t been all that kind to her in the first place. The operative was, he supposed, pretty enough, but despite that, she had never appeared very feminine. Thirty years on and nearing retirement, age had done nothing to soften her. She was still a bottle-blonde, very nearly as tall as Casey, and still looked and sounded more than a little like a drag queen. He and Adderly had once spent an entertaining few hours on a very long stakeout speculating that Monroe might be exactly that, though V. H. had eventually decided transgender might be closer to the mark.

It dawned on Casey as he approached her that he had no idea what Monroe’s given name actually was.

“Adderly said to give you a ride.” She made it sound like her boss had told her she had to get a root canal without anesthetic.

He fell in behind her, and they were silent on the drive to Riah’s apartment. Monroe drove into the parking garage, pulled up next to an elevator and got out to open the trunk so Casey could get his bag. She didn’t say a word as she left him there. Casey watched her drive away, bemused.

When he stepped out of the elevator onto Riah’s floor, an ISI operative asked for ID. He reached into his jacket and slowly removed and handed it over. “Colonel,” the operative nodded, handed the ID back, and stepped aside for Casey to move down the hall. The other operative stepped aside with a nod of his own. Casey fished the key Riah had given him out and inserted it into the door.

She paced her darkened living room. Casey dropped his bag outside her bedroom door and called her name softly as he walked into the large, open living area. Riah launched herself at him. Casey cupped her face, kissed her. He had nearly wrapped his arms around her before he remembered her wound. “Get me out of here,” she said fervently when she released his mouth, “or make them at least let me open the drapes.”

He snorted, amused, as Riah released his suit’s lapel and flung her hand at the covered windows. There were no operatives inside with her, and it had, apparently, never occurred to her that she could simply open them until someone made her close them again. Casey considered teasing her about following rules again, but instead he kissed her once more and said, “I plan to take you home, Riah.”

She clutched him tightly. “If you’re joking, John, I’ll shoot you.”

“No joke,” he promised, dropping his hands to her hips. “Your American passport is in my bag along with a letter offering sincere apologies.”

Riah snorted. “Fuck apologies. Let’s get the first flight out.”

He settled her more snugly against him and made a counteroffer. “How about dinner, a long night keeping each other awake, and I’ll help you pack in the morning?”

“Deal,” she said.

Casey took her hand and walked her toward her bedroom, asked about Victoria as he did so.

“Isobel took her to run errands.”

Immediately uneasy, Casey recalled Beckman’s words earlier that morning. “Is that safe?”

Riah heaved a sigh. “I don’t know. Dad seemed to think it would be okay. Isobel’s armed, and there are two other operatives with them.”

Inside her room, Casey walked to the windows to open the drapes. “Your dad heard any more about Nevins?”

When he turned to face her, Riah had her arms crossed over her chest. “He was spotted in Toronto late this morning.”

Casey returned to her, kissed her again, spread his hands on her back and pulled her to him. “How long have Izzie and Victoria been gone?”

“Twenty or so minutes.” Her hands slid up his chest and under his jacket.

It didn’t take long to dispose of their clothes, but Casey paused when he exposed the bandage. Riah impatiently let him look at the wound. She and her father had been right, so he pressed the surgical tape back into place. “You’re going to waste more time making me tell you, aren’t you?”

“I saw the video.”

“Then shut up and get around to keeping me awake.” Riah pushed him toward her bed.

Always happy to oblige, Casey did so.

 

He was half asleep, Riah apparently completely asleep, when Casey heard Izzie and Victoria come home. He probably ought to let Izzie know he was there, or at least wake Riah so she could, but he didn’t. His luggage was still outside the bedroom door, and the other woman was clever enough to figure it out, assuming one of the operatives in the hall hadn’t already told her. Casey was in no hurry to give up the comfort having his naked wife wrapped around him offered. His one concession was to draw the covers over them.

As he lay there listening to Izzie try to calm Victoria, who apparently really didn’t like being closed in any more than her mother did, Casey decided that since he wasn’t going to get to sleep, he might as well let Riah rest and go see his daughter. He carefully separated his limbs from those of his wife and slid out of the bed, pulled most of his clothes back on, and slipped out of the room.

Izzie was not at all surprised to see him. “V. H. told me you were coming,” she told him when he reached for Victoria, who began to settle down almost as soon as he had her. Izzie caught him up on what she knew. Casey had already been told most of it, but he thanked her anyway.  
“By the way,” she added with a stern look, “I can’t believe you told Mariah about Windsor.”

Casey shrugged, fought back a grin. “Let’s just say I’ve learned that when my wife asks a question, as long as national security is not involved, it’s best to honestly answer her.”

Izzie gave him a long look. “You and I both know that sometimes the truth does not set you free.”

“No,” he agreed, mindful that he could have easily wound up a single man in the wake of Keller’s blackmail, “but sometimes hiding it makes it far more likely you’ll be unpleasantly free.” Casey cradled Victoria against him, studied how she had changed in the weeks since he had seen her last, and completely melted when she grinned at him. He asked her, “Ready to go home, kiddo?”

“Home?” Izzie asked.

Casey looked past his daughter to the other woman. “That’s the plan.” He explained that the deportation order on his wife had been lifted, and he had come to take his family back to California. Adderly had, apparently, not told her that.

Izzie was true to form. “There’s a lot to do, then,” she told him briskly. “Since you managed to drag yourself out of your wife’s bed, you can take care of Victoria.”

He played with his daughter while Izzie gathered and started laundry. Casey told her he intended to take Riah out when the other woman offered to fix them dinner. Izzie suggested he feed his daughter while she straightened the living room, and when he agreed, she told him where to find Victoria’s food. Riah had begun feeding her baby food at night, he knew, though Casey couldn’t help thinking it was child abuse given the look and smell of it, despite the fact it was homemade.

After Victoria finished her dinner, Izzie took the baby and told him, “Go wake Mariah. I’ll bathe Victoria while you make a reservation, and then I’ll watch her while the two of you get ready.” She named a restaurant, told Casey Riah had mentioned it as one of her favorites, and suggested he try them. After he got a table for eight, he went to do as Izzie said.

Casey slipped back into his wife’s room. Riah was curled on her side, still sleeping. After a quick glance at the clock beside her bed, he knew he should go ahead and wake her to start getting ready. Instead, he eased on the bed behind her, slipped an arm over her waist, careful to avoid the wound, and just held her. Riah stirred, rolled to face him, and when she opened her eyes, he told where he’d made a reservation.

She frowned at him. “I’m on lockdown. Dad’s orders.”

“I don’t work for your dad, and I’m taking my wife to dinner.”

While Riah went to get a shower, Casey retrieved his suitcase, sorted out what he needed, and then took her place in the bathroom when she came out swaddled in towels.

When he returned to her bedroom to get dressed, Casey stared. He had never seen the deep red dress she wore, but he heartily approved of the way it emphasized her cleavage and her curves, the way it showed her legs to advantage—until he remembered he wouldn’t be the only one seeing it or them. He tried, unsuccessfully, to get her to change, told Riah she should probably put on something she could wear a vest under. She ignored him, continued to finish her makeup and hair before putting on the diamonds he had given her. Casey dressed in one of his black suits and coordinating tie. Riah’s lips twitched when he holstered his SIG, and his eyes narrowed. He put his arms around her, kissed her, while he ran a hand down her leg and under the skirt of her dress. “You only had to ask,” she laughed. At least she was armed, he thought as he released her.

Riah gave Izzie a few last minute instructions, kissed Victoria, who was still awake, and when Casey had done the same, he escorted Riah out. As they rode the elevator downstairs, Riah handed him a set of car keys. He headed for her Volvo, but she caught his sleeve and redirected him to a sleek Audi roadster.

It had been a long time since Casey had a night out with his wife. Their Thursdays had been interrupted months earlier when she was deported. He tried not to growl at the appreciative eyes that followed his wife as they were led to their table. As they ordered, he beat down the impulse to pound the waiter to a pulp, especially since the man seemed incapable of raising his eyes much above Riah’s breasts. Casey had about concluded that he should have just stayed in with her when she gave him a dazzling smile, leaned forward so he could see down her dress, and told him, “If it helps, the women are looking at you much the same way.”

“Doesn’t help at all,” he said, an edge to his voice, and then his wife set out to charm him. Okay, maybe charm wasn’t exactly the right word since what Riah really did was drive him slowly insane. She flirted with him, something she’d never really done before, and she continued making sure he got a good view down the neckline of her dress. Before long, he wanted to pull her onto the table and have her for dinner. Casey went along for the ride, though, plotted her punishment—until she ordered dessert.

Watching her eat it was pure torture as Riah scooped up her chocolate mousse and licked it off her spoon, those eyes of hers glued to his. Casey could think of far better uses she could put that tongue to than dessert. As her tongue darted out once more, licked the chocolate mousse with torturous slowness from the dessert spoon, he had had enough. He signaled for the bill, paid, left a healthy tip, and was barely able to wait until they were in the car before he engaged her tongue in much more satisfactory action. Riah tasted of chocolate, and when her hands started sliding inside his clothes, Casey decided getting caught trying to make love to his wife in a cramped sports car was not the way he wanted to end the evening.

Izzie took one look at him when they entered Riah’s apartment and grabbed her purse. She told Riah she’d come by in the morning and breezed out. Casey had Riah’s zipper down and was backing her into her bedroom almost before the door closed behind the other woman. Riah pushed out of his arms when they were inside her room. Casey fully cooperated with her as she removed his clothes. When she had him naked, she maneuvered him to the bed where he took a seat and watched the show. He watched with single-minded concentration as Riah removed her loosened dress with a shimmy he’d never seen from her before.

As she revealed what was beneath, Casey wasn’t sure he wouldn’t die right then. Riah wore that almost underwear she’d been wearing in the photograph she’d sent him.

Slowly, she removed her holster, and he growled his disappointment. There was something about the gun strapped to her thigh that set the black lace off. Casey liked a woman with a gun, but he could lose a vital part if Riah kept it on and something went wrong, so he simply watched her remove it and the weapon it held.

Riah met his eyes, held his gaze, and stepped out of her shoes. She stood in front of him, irritatingly out of reach, and slowly removed her jewelry. Casey avidly stared as she removed first one stocking and then the other. What nearly killed him, though, was the way she slid her way out of that strappy, lacy, not-really underwear with a spectacular, inflammatory grace.

That was when he finally remembered what he had wanted to do with her while she wore that.

Casey supposed he could get her to put it on again later.

It was rare for Riah to be the aggressor when they made love. She initiated sex frequently, but she had generally been happy to let him take the lead. She was apparently becoming bolder—not that Casey intended to complain. The novelty of having his wife take charge kept him seated and attentive. By the time she was fully naked, he wasn’t sure he could have moved had he wanted to. Wearing nothing but a smile and the bandage over her wound, Riah walked toward him, stood between his knees and cupped his face before she plundered his mouth. When his hands settled on her hips, she removed them gently. Casey got the message and let them fall to the bed.

She took her time, explored every inch of him. Casey couldn’t fault her thoroughness, not when Riah followed her hands with her mouth. He was especially pleased when she turned her tongue on him, repeated the movements she had used to clean her dessert spoon on him. He didn’t mind in the least being a surrogate for chocolate mousse, especially not when she abandoned licking him to close her mouth, hot and wet, over him. She brought him close, released him, slid up his body and took his mouth with hers. This time, she didn’t protest when his hands got involved.

They had coupled hard and fast when he first arrived, need overtaking technique. Riah was redressing that haste, though Casey was beginning to think haste had its function by the time she finally slid over him and began to move.

 

“Were you trying to kill me?” he mumbled when she collapsed on him.

She lifted her head from his chest, kissed him, slowly, and then grinned. “I told you. You’re of no use to me dead,” Riah reminded him. She kissed him again. This one lingered, but there was no heat in it. “It started as distraction.”

“If you had changed your clothes, I wouldn’t have needed distracting,” Casey told her. “Not that I didn’t appreciate the view.”

“You just didn’t like sharing it,” she laughed.

He rolled her onto her back. “Not in the least.”

It was his turn to make her crazy, and Casey took his job seriously. What the mission lacked in planning, he made up for in execution. Toward the end, Riah was punctuating his name with some of the filthiest suggestions he’d heard outside of his unit after they’d done without women for over a month.

Afterward, as he held her, Casey asked, “Do you kiss our daughter with that mouth?”

Smugly, Riah pointed out, “You weren’t complaining when I was using it on you.”

Casey snorted and ignored her statement because he couldn’t argue with it. He considered how to ask what he wished. “Were those serious suggestions or just some sort of Tourette’s?”

She pulled his mouth to hers. When Riah had finished kissing him, she asked, “I take it you liked some of those ideas?”

“Riah, if I thought you were remotely serious about any of those, I don’t think we’d get out of this bed for at least the next year. Besides I’m not sure either of us is flexible enough for some of your suggestions.”

His wife looked thoughtfully up at him. “But you did hear something you liked.”

Casey cocked his head. There was a note in her voice that made him think she might actually be interested in some of what she had blurted as he made love to her. Well aware of the lingering trust issues that reared themselves from time to time, he sifted through her suggestions, sought one that might be the least threatening to her. “Riah, where did you get those ideas?”

Deep color rode under her skin. His wife was not a prude, but she was a little funny about intimacy sometimes, so Riah’s answer amused him: “I’ve been reading sex books.”

It was so quietly said that despite the fact he was only inches from her, Casey barely heard it. “Lydia’s book?”

She looked even more embarrassed, if that were possible. “Among others.”

His wife had been reading about sex while they were separated. Casey held her gaze and wondered why. He also wondered what. “Riah,” he said softly and waited for her to meet his eyes. He decided to treat her question seriously. The truth was, she had made a couple of suggestions he did like. He wasn’t at all unhappy with their sex life, but like many people, he did, occasionally, like something a little different. “I might have heard something I liked, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

Casey was taken aback. “Riah, some of those involve real risks.”

It was more than clear she didn’t understand. The one that most interested him he suspected she would actually balk at. He wouldn’t blame her, given her history, so he chose it deliberately to make her understand. “Take bondage,” he said, and he wondered if his squeamishness actually showed. She’d admitted knowing about Prague and about Carina Miller’s reenactment. “It involves restraining one of us, and if we don’t plan it right, don’t talk it through, one of us could wind up hurt.”

Riah had a thoughtful look on her face, and he mentally stepped back. He had actually thought she would say no, had been certain she would back off completely, but it wasn’t hard to see she was considering it—seriously considering it. “What is there to plan, other than how one of us is restrained?”

Casey blinked. He searched her face and realized it was an honest question. “Rules of engagement,” he blurted, then drew himself up short. It would be hard for him to deny he liked being bound, especially since Carina had managed to get him in that position and leave him to be found twice. He was a take-charge kind of guy, and it always seemed to surprise women that he occasionally liked to have the illusion of having absolutely no control over a situation.

Riah bent her arm and rested her head on her hand. “What kinds of rules?”

Rolling on his back, Casey looked at her. “Whatever rules we want, but usually it’s about the limits of what each of us are willing to accept.” He paused, searched her face. “It’s kind of like running an op—what might we want to do, what might we need to do, what equipment will we need, and a code word.”

Her face remained thoughtful. “What equipment might we need?”

His mouth went dry. Riah had flirted on the edges of this a few times before. When push had come to shove, though, she had not been able to take the final steps. That didn’t stop him from imagining her as an even more assertive version of the woman who had turned the tables on him the last time he’d visited. That time she had shoved him on the bed and taken what she wanted. Despite two years of intimacy, this was a whole new step, but Casey wasn’t convinced she was quite ready for it. He reconsidered when he recalled that very early Christmas morning when he’d found himself in the floor of her Newfoundland bedroom with his gun in her hand and pointed at his head. Perhaps Riah might not have as much trouble as he thought taking control—with the right encouragement, of course. Then again, he’d given her the chance several times, but she’d never fully exploited any of those opportunities. “Anything that ties—or we could use my cuffs.”

Riah’s smile was enhanced by her hand stroking down his stomach to move over the part of him that seriously hoped she’d carry through. “Which one of us gets tied up?”

Casey looked up at her and said emphatically, “Me.” Her brows shot up, and her hand slid off him. She was about to protest, so he told her, “Riah, I don’t want to scare you, not in bed, so not you.”

Her mouth firmed into a thin line. “So what’s the attraction if it’s frightening?”

“That’s actually part of the attraction for some,” Casey admitted, “but for others it’s about control—though a lot of people mistake who’s actually in control.”

A frown creased her forehead, but then he watched it ease, watched her expression clear and a sly little smile turn up her lips. “I think I get it now.”

Watching her, Casey was half afraid she did.

Her body moved, brushed over his. “You get restrained, and you call the shots at the same time.”

Casey had always known she was smart. “Well, you get to call some of them.”

“Ah,” Riah said in his ear as her breasts skated over his chest, “but bound or not, you have the power to stop me.”

His hands came up, grasped her hips while his fingers spread over her bottom. “Figured that out,” he gasped when she bit along his jaw.

She was on her knees, and he tried to pull her down on top of him, but she wouldn’t let him. In a husky, smoky voice that had him nearly to the point of begging, especially since she made soft bites with her teeth down his throat, down his chest, onto his stomach, Riah asked, “What if I won’t play by your rules?”

His hands slid up her body as she migrated south. Casey took her hair and wrapped it around his wrist to make sure she didn’t miss the correct destination. “I’ll play by yours.”

Casey sincerely hoped that didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.

There was good reason for that desperation since despite his hold on her, Riah continued moving downward, missed completely the part of him that wanted her attention most. He released her hair, but when she slid off the side of her bed, he groaned his frustration at her ceiling. When he finally looked to see what she was doing, he saw her rummaging in his bag.

Propping himself on his elbows, Casey asked, a hint of irritation in his voice, “Something I can help you with?”

Riah looked over her shoulder at him, wore a smile he suspected might not bode well for him. “Your cuffs?”

_Holy hell_ , he thought. She’d been serious. Instinct had him opening his mouth to tell her no, but another, much more eager part of him told her, “Left side. Interior pocket.” Casey watched her unzip the small compartment and tried to remember where the key was, but her nakedness kept distracting him. Fortunately, Riah didn’t need his assistance to find it.

When she returned to the bed, she straddled his waist and looked down at him. His cuffs were hooked over her right index finger. Her arm bent so they were even with her shoulder. Her eyes danced. “Hard or easy?”

Casey couldn’t answer her at first as possibilities danced through his head. “Is that the way you cuff me or the sex you’re promising?”

Riah laughed at that, leaned slightly forward and said, “Your choice.”

No, it really wasn’t, he thought as he held her gaze and thought quickly. This could get out of hand faster than she would be comfortable with. “There are things to talk about first, Riah.”

Her tongue-tip slipped between her lips as she considered. “Okay, limits,” she prompted.

Though he knew what his answer was, Casey gave it some thought since he knew she could retreat any moment; she had before when she’d had him at her mercy and willing to comply. “Nothing that hurts me,” he told her, then added, “you, either.”

Nodding her consent, Riah asked, “What else?” Before he could answer, she leaned forward and asked softly, “Will I need to get my phone to take a picture?”

“If you want this,” Casey growled, “then you’d be wise not to remind me of that.”

Riah grinned and bent further, licked his ear, bit the lobe, and whispered in what was actually a throaty little moan, “Oh, I want this.”

His eyes slid closed and his body begged him to make her simply get on with it. “You know you have to do all the work, right?”

When he opened his eyes, she grinned. “Who said it would be work?”

If she kept that up, they were never getting to the main event, so Casey met that impudent stare of hers and said, “Pineapple.”

Riah laughed, hard. “Seriously? You’re bringing the Buy More into this?”

Casey ratcheted a brow up. “Are you likely to talk about pineapples during sex? Am I?”

Sobering, she shook her head. “Safe word: pineapple,” Riah confirmed with a brief nod.

After she sat back up, she put her free hand on her hip and lifted the hand with the cuffs again. She twirled the cuffs on her finger and asked, “Should I just cuff you—fore or aft—or do you want to be fastened to the bed?”

From experience of a non-sexual nature, he didn’t want to lie on his bound wrists, and while he wouldn’t mind the limited range of having his hands cuffed in front of him, he wanted to see what she would do when he couldn’t interfere, so to speak. As a result, Casey shifted so he lay comfortably on his back and stretched his arms toward the slats of her headboard. He wondered if Riah knew he would likely ruin the paint on the wooden headboard before she was finished with him. Apparently, she did, since she got up and left him there while she went to her dresser and returned with a folded t-shirt which she wrapped around the board before running the cuffs over it and then snapping them closed over his wrists.

Finished restraining him, she sat back on her heels and cocked her head, frowned. “Do you have another set?”

Casey wondered why she asked.

Blushing, she added, “There are more possibilities if your arms aren’t right against your head.”

Riah very definitely had a point, so Casey hated to disappoint her by telling her no. “You?”

“ISI doesn’t issue cuffs to analysts.”

“How remiss of them,” he offered with a side of sarcasm.

Fortunately, she took no offense. “I’ll make sure I point that out during my performance review.”

“About those possibilities,” Casey prompted.

Riah leaned in and kissed him. She started softly, slowly. Her mouth pressed soft kisses over his face, down his throat and down his body. She took her time, and Casey resisted the urge to try and talk her into getting on with it. Apparently, she had torture in mind, but he figured he could take it.

When she finally reached his left hip and began to drift down and to his right, he considered how Riah had so far only touched him with her lips and tongue, occasionally nipped with her teeth, but he forgot the point when her mouth started up the hard length of him and her tongue hit that spot just below the crown where she nibbled.

Casey’s brains ran out his ears; he was certain of it. He was intensely focused on her heated mouth working its way up and down him, pausing near the top to make him lose a little more grey matter, until she finally took him inside her mouth and sucked.

He might have whimpered.

Riah’s hands got in on the act then, stroked up the inside of his thighs and over his stomach. She had him ready to beg, and then she was gone.

Well, not gone. She knelt beside him on the bed, sat back, and crossed her arms over her chest. When she had his attention, she lifted a brow. “It’s just occurred to me that there are a number of possibilities completely unrelated to pleasure.”

Because he didn’t have much cognitive ability at that particular moment, it took a few seconds to consider what she might mean. Then it dawned on him. Riah had let him off the hook a little too easily when he’d come to grovel. From the looks of her, she was about to redress that particular oversight.

Her fingers found his knee, travelled so lightly up the inside of his thigh that Casey was barely aware of her touch beyond the reaction it created, the way that soft stroke made him want to beg her to return to what she’d been doing. “Tell me, John,” Riah said softly, “why you left that redheaded major out of your list the last time I had you here.”

_Oh, fuck._

“I thought we agreed to let that go,” he said through gritted teeth since her hand had found his balls and taken hold. He probably should remind her of the agreement to do no physical damage to one another. The squeeze she gave him didn’t cause pain, but that didn’t mean the next one wouldn’t. Casey thought hard, realized he really had overlooked telling Riah about Celia—and not just when he’d been in Ottawa weeks ago.

There was a funny little expression on her face, part skepticism, part amusement. “I’m not letting this go.”

Since her hand retained its grip, tightened slightly, he nearly told her game over, but then he caught something on her face. His wife intended to torture him—and Celia was just fodder to do so. “What if I won’t tell you?”

The smile had an edge of mean, but her eyes belied it. Riah leaned forward, squeezed a little tighter. “I’ll have to make you.”

Casey bit back a smile at her seductive tone. Apparently, this made it easier for her, so he decided it might be interesting to play along, though he wasn’t convinced she understood the idea of threat and reward. Perhaps he should give her a few pointers, but then he decided Riah had to do this on her own. “Do your worst,” he told her, remembered her saying the same to him the last time he’d visited her, but he didn’t add the _or best_ she had.

Apparently, his wife had the memory of an elephant since she backed up a bit. Casey felt Riah’s nipple graze his chest. She tipped her head, tsked, and asked, “Not my best?” Her hand tightened again.

“Best is good,” he agreed before goading her with, “but I don’t think you can make me talk.”

That was as good as a dare, he realized, as her expression shifted. What was more, Riah was clearly going to take it. This time her hand tightened just enough to make him yelp before she relaxed her grip and cocked a brow.

He waited, watched her calculate, and wondered what she intended. She shifted on the bed, and then her mouth was right back where it belonged, to his gratitude. She went down, then up, then released him to look at him. “The redheaded major?”

So the gratitude had been premature. “Celia,” he said despite knowing his wife wasn’t asking the woman’s name. After all, Casey didn’t plan to give in too soon, was curious where Riah would go with this, and feeding her a bit of information might inspire her to go there sooner.

“Celia,” she repeated. “Who is she?”

_Oh, the possibilities_ , he thought. He was going to make her work for it, just as he’d do if he were actually being tortured—though Casey certainly didn’t think he’d ever be in quite this position if it were real torture. “That ship sailed, Riah.”

She crawled up his body, made sure her breasts dragged up his torso which made him want just that much more. Riah gave him a distinctly salacious little smile and told him, “Oh, I don’t think so,” before she bit his nipple just hard enough he obliged her with a grunt.

At least she wasn’t doing any real damage, but Casey worried that it turned the desire for her up even more. “You agreed you would let me explain.”

Riah ran her tongue over the nipple she bit and then kissed. “What do you think I’m doing?”

The kisses trailed south. “We dated.”

Her teeth lightly bit his stomach. “Was that all?”

No, it hadn’t been all, which Casey was pretty sure she knew, but her tongue was making it difficult for him to decide what to reveal next. “We had sex.”

“How many times?” she asked as her mouth finally returned to where it had been before she decided to play interrogator.

The truth was he hadn’t exactly counted, but he suspected even a conservative guess might bring her teeth into play in ways he’d rather avoid, hand, too, Casey thought, as Riah put it back on his balls. “No idea,” he admitted tightly as she sucked.

Her teeth bit gently into his shaft.

He got the message. “A lot.”

Her mouth released him. “Define ‘a lot.’”

Casey met her gaze and considered options for answers. Despite the potential risk, he decided to provoke her. A slight smile, quirked his mouth before he deliberately drawled, “A. Lot.”

Her smile turned knowing. “Ah.”

If he hadn’t been wondering what she meant by that, Casey might have noticed her change in expression. He did notice that Riah once more moved up and away from where he particularly wanted her. She straddled his chest. “I think appeasement’s in order, then.”

He looked up her body at her. “I agree,” he said, deliberately misinterpreting her statement. “You owe me for making me admit something that doesn’t matter at all to our relationship.”

One of her hands grasped his chin. “No, John. You have to appease me for admitting you had a lot of sex with that woman.”

“You’re not exactly in the right position for that,” he told her despite beginning to see where she might be going with this, “and that was the past.”

Riah moved closer to his face.

“After all,” he added, “you’ve said several times my past is my past, and Celia is definitely and permanently past.”

That didn’t stop him from complying when she wrapped her hands around the top of the headboard and placed herself over his mouth. Besides, he was certain her sense of fair play would kick in when he was finished, so he opened his mouth, used his tongue, occasionally stopped to delay what she was after, which made her curse and order him to finish his task. Casey didn’t consider refusing, though he still didn’t let her completely have her way, made her assert herself a time or two more, and when Riah was finally appeased, she kissed him rather thoroughly.

“I love the way I taste on you,” she whispered. Casey stared, had never had a woman say anything remotely like that to him before. He had no idea what to say in return.

As a result, he simply blurted, “What did you do with my wife?”

Riah laughed softly. “Good question.” She moved to kiss his chest and said, “I definitely see some attractions in this.”

“Feel free to explore any or all of them,” he told her fervently.

As it turned out, he hadn’t been entirely correct about her sense of fair play—or maybe he had. She started him, stopped him until he was begging her to finish him. When she finally took him inside her and rode him until they both had what they wanted, he waited for her kiss. Riah gave that little purr he’d missed and settled into him. “Okay, I get the appeal.”

Casey laughed. “You didn’t have to do this to get me to do what you wanted—or for you to do what I wanted.”

Her eyes were sleepy. “Celia?”

He told her. Told her how they met, told her how they started dating, repeated his admission he’d slept with the other woman, and told her he’d broken it off when she started to cling, to make permanent plans that were definitely not part of Casey’s long-term plans. “I used to say that the women I dated died or I left them.” When she frowned, he added, “I left her.”

Riah sat up, reached for the key and removed the cuffs. He put his arms around her and waited for her to ask. Instead, she settled into him. He was on the edge of sleep when she finally, quietly, did. “Is that why you asked to be reassigned?”

Casey tilted his head so he could see her face. He waited until she looked at him to say, “You had nothing to do with that. I’d been asking since the day Beckman told me I was going to be Bartowski’s handmaiden.” He rethought his answer. Before he revised it, he kissed Riah softly. “Beckman only granted the request because, for once, I wasn’t interested in leaving, and you weren’t dying.”

Okay, he admitted, that might be a little revisionist since he’d been a little twitchy when he realized he was a little too comfortable with Riah and the menagerie that were part of Mission Moron. He’d considered running, so to speak, but when Beckman finally granted that request, Casey wanted to refuse.

When Riah shivered, he considered how she had nearly fulfilled that second option and drew her closer to him. Perhaps that was why it was easy to tell her softly, “I love you, Mariah Casey, and I have no intention of either leaving you or letting you die.”

“I love you, too, John Casey.” She gave him an impudent smile and cocked a brow. “If that is your name.”

He rolled her beneath him, kissed her hard. “I might have to change my mind,” Casey threatened, though he didn’t consider it for a moment.

“I know we were going to keep each other up, but I think I need a little bit of rest first.” Her body rubbed his as Riah stretched, and because he could use a bit of sleep himself, he kissed her again and rolled off her, settled her close and drifted off.

 

Casey welcomed the hot, bitter coffee Riah brought him just before dawn. He pulled himself up against the headboard, and tugged her onto the bed with him. Neither of them had slept much the night before. His wife reached up and took his mouth, smiled when she released him. Casey was more interested in her lack of clothes.

“I’m glad to see you kept your promise.”

He ran a hand along her spine. “It’s still dark, and Victoria is still asleep.”

Riah’s smile was a little wicked. “I’ve been thinking,” she told him.

“That sounds ominous.”

“How did you manage to get in that position twice?”

Perhaps because he hadn’t yet ingested enough caffeine, he wasn’t sure what position she meant, so he asked.

“Cuffed naked to a bed.”

Casey could play stupid, remind her he’d volunteered, but he knew she meant with Carina. It would be easy to play the men become idiots when women get naked card, but he was pretty certain that wasn’t exactly the answer she was looking for. After all, her expression said it was a serious question, and something in it told him she was also thinking of her father and Galina Vian.

Setting his cup on the nightstand, he gathered her closer, maneuvered Riah onto her back and gave her the kind of kiss that usually left her clinging to him. He ran his hands up her body as he kissed her again, careful not to damage the bandage over her wound. Casey slipped a hand down her body, stroked through the curls where her thighs joined, and let his other hand glide up her right arm, gently stretched it so her wrist lay against one of the rails in her headboard before he lifted his mouth and whispered, “Snap. It’s that easy.”

Riah nodded. She met his eyes and asked, “If I let you bind me, what will you do to me?”

Casey went absolutely stupid for a split second. When he could process thought once more, he considered carefully. He would have to go easy with her—assuming he actually consented and assuming Riah really was willing to go through with it.

“Whatever you allow.”

“I trust you,” she said, and her expression said she believed it. “Pineapple.”

Casey didn’t point out she’d just told him to stop. Instead, he left her on the bed and went to her dresser to search though her drawers. He found what he wanted in the second one. “Get comfortable,” he told her, and when Riah assumed the position, he took a moment to appreciate how it lifted her breasts. He used one of the stockings he’d taken to tie her wrist to the headboard, and then he put an end of it in her hand. “If you get uncomfortable,” he told her as he started on her other hand, “all you have to do is tug it, and you’ll be free.”

Just as she had done, he made a thorough exploration of her, kissed, stroked, tasted, and though he teased, he wasn’t willing to play that out too long before he entered her, moved within her. Just before Riah was about to fly, he stopped, met her startled eyes, and asked, “How much?”

Riah gave him a baffled frown.

“How much do you trust me?”

“Completely,” she told him. Casey caught her mouth and reached up to free one of her hands.

She was about to protest, so he covered her mouth with his, added a bit of persuasion, and then he rolled her onto her stomach and retied her wrist. His mouth was on her nape, and Riah gave a soft moan as his hands stroked down to her hips. Casey snaked an arm under her waist, lifted her onto her knees, and then wrapped her hands over the top of the headboard before he handed her the ends of each stocking once more.

He fitted his body to hers, kissed along her shoulder toward her neck and then up to her cheek. Riah turned her head, met his mouth with a smolder that quickly turned to flame. For a while, he simply kissed her, ran his hands over her. Casey kissed her nape, stroked her with his fingers, and when he had her gasping for breath after she came, he lifted his hand, stroked her cheek and kissed her.

Once more, Casey started over, skated past the parts of her she begged him to touch before he finally shifted her legs a little wider and pushed inside her. Riah moaned, and as he moved his hips, stroked in and out of her, she got more verbal. He had her on the edge before he stopped.

The profanity that came out of her mouth amused the hell out of him, but after a moment or two, he shut her up by covering her mouth with his and beginning again. Riah had mentioned possibilities, so Casey intended to make sure she saw how teasing someone to their limits could be very pleasurable.

The profanity changed to encouragement, and the encouragement switched to something profane without the dirty words, and as she started to come, she screamed his name.

As Casey continued thrusting into her from behind, remained intent on getting her through again before he followed, her bedroom door crashed open.


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last official chapter of this. I do have a finale I’ll post as soon as I can make a pass through and clean up some things. So thanks to all of you who stuck with this—commenting or not.

The next thing Casey knew, there were two ISI goons, Izzie, and V. H. standing in Riah’s bedroom with weapons pointed at him. He moved fast, grabbed the covers and a pillow to hide his wife’s nakedness, but he wasn’t sure he had been quite fast enough.

One of the goons was stupid enough to ask, “Are you alright, Miss Adderly?”

Casey nearly kissed Riah for snapping out, “ _Mrs. Casey_ is perfectly fine. Get the hell out."

As soon as the goons were gone, Riah collapsed back into him. Casey was ready to kill something, but then she went stiff. After a second, he heard it. They had wakened Victoria, though Casey wasn’t entirely sure whether that had been Riah or the invading horde.

Izzie gave them an amused grin before she said lightly, “I’ll get her.” She winked at Casey. “Take your time.”

“Don’t,” V. H. ground out. “Put some pants on, and then you and I have to talk.”

At least the other man closed the door behind him. That was when Riah began to shake. Her breathing went funny, and Casey reached around her, tugged the stockings so her hands were free. He turned her toward him and wrapped his arms around her. “It could have been worse,” he teased, though he didn’t much feel like joking. He was painfully reminded of that panic attack of hers in Chicago, but the circumstances in which they had been caught that time had been downright tame by comparison.

“How?”

He pressed a kiss on Riah’s mouth. “They could have simply shot me before asking if you were okay.” It was easy to see that alarmed her rather than amused her. It occurred to Casey that what he said was all too true. He gripped her hips, pulled her closer. “Hey, it was my ass they saw.”

Deep red stained her pale skin. “I think they probably saw more than enough of me.”

“I’ll kill them for you,” he offered softly, “though at least none of them took pictures.”

Riah’s blush remained firmly in place. Her eyes were agonized when she looked up at him. “Dad said quite a few people at ISI saw the picture I sent you.”

Her words were barely above a whisper. Casey considered telling her it had made the rounds of the NSA as well. Instead, he pulled her even closer, and when she finally looked up at him, he grinned. “You realize that just means they all know what a lucky bastard I am, right?”

That made Riah smile. Casey relaxed despite the fact it was a pretty wobbly smile. She cocked her head. “That’ll make finding your replacement that much easier after Dad shoots you.”

He very nearly told her only if he didn’t shoot V. H. first, but he didn’t. Casey worried she might believe he meant it and trigger a panic attack after all. Instead, he gave her a persuasive kiss and offered, “We could finish what we were doing.” Riah flushed, looked skeptical, so he added, “Least you could do is grant a man about to be executed his dying wish.”

His wife snorted and pulled him down for a rather persuasive kiss of her own. “I believe I owe you,” she agreed, kissed again, and then added, “but I think it’s better to let Dad do his rant and then finish the rest of your agenda for this visit.” Casey frowned, so she reminded him, “We’re down to the part where you help me pack and then take Victoria and me home.”

Since Riah followed that statement with a kiss that went well beyond persuasive and returned him to the state he’d been in before their privacy was invaded, Casey toppled her on the bed and covered her body with his. “I think you could at least take the edge off before I have to face the fire-breathing dragon out there.”

That made Riah giggle, something she didn’t do often. “Bucking for sainthood?” she asked, but she put her hand on him and wrapped her legs around his waist. “Get on with it, Marine.”

Casey made sure she understood why sainthood would never be an option no matter how many dragons he might manage to slay. He noted, too, Riah made more noise than she usually did, so he wondered if she was getting a little revenge of her own for her father’s intrusion.

In keeping with V. H.’s edict, Casey pulled on a pair of flannel sleep pants and nothing else. He turned to Riah, but she simply reminded him her father had asked to see him, not her, before she began gathering their discarded clothes from the night before.

Steeling himself, Casey walked out of her bedroom and through the kitchen. Izzie handed him a cup of coffee before saying cheerfully, “It’s good to see you’ve kept that fine ass of yours in shape.”

He grunted and moved toward where V. H. sat holding Victoria.

“I thought I told you to get dressed,” his father-in-law told him with a dark, disapproving look.

“You said put some pants on.” The man was grumpy as hell, which cheered Casey, who set his coffee on the table and took his daughter from her grandfather before dropping on the sofa opposite the other man. Victoria, at least, seemed happy to see him, and she made happy babble at him as he kissed her cheek and settled her in his lap. “So talk,” he grunted at V. H.

“Where’s Mariah?”

Casey grinned, “Recovering from the invasion.” So it wasn’t entirely true, but he was pretty sure some form or forms of the word _molest_ were about to be flung at him. That was okay with Casey because he was strangely in the mood to play. He was able to see the humor in what had happened even as he remained pissed off that knowing he was with his wife they had thought something was wrong—despite controlling the entrance into Riah’s apartment.

“Yours?” V. H. snorted derisively.

“That, too,” he agreed smugly, shifted Victoria so he could safely reach for his coffee. He heard a sizzle that told him Izzie had decided to prepare breakfast. Casey looked at his daughter and asked, “You eaten yet, kiddo?” She wiggled a little, looked up at him with a happy expression remarkably like her mother’s, so he figured since she wasn’t fussing, Izzie had probably fed her.

His father-in-law’s terse, “I didn’t need to see you molest my daughter,” had Casey looking across at the other man. “Don’t deny that you were,” V. H. added, and the man looked mad as hell, “because I saw you had her hands bound.”

The choices before him held infinite possibilities. Casey could retort that had V. H. not invaded their room, he wouldn’t have seen that. He could admit Riah had asked him to bind her. He could remind V. H. he didn’t abuse the man’s daughter. About to fire another salvo, having settled on telling the man Riah had made the request, Casey stopped when he saw the underlying worry on V. H.’s face. For the first time, he finally gave some thought to the fact that they had been caught in a position that six months ago Riah would have refused to even consider. “It’s none of your business what my wife and I do in what we thought was the privacy of our own bedroom,” he said instead.

V. H. should probably be thankful Casey didn’t remind him of Montreal and the other man’s incident with the Belgian spy, Galina Vian.

His father-in-law was defensive when he said, “We heard her scream.”

Unable to stop the satisfied little smile, Casey recalled the reason for that. There was something about taking her from behind that made her considerably more vocal that he didn’t quite understand—but he definitely liked it. It was clear Riah did as well once she got over her fear of having a man behind her. “Pleasure,” he told his father-in-law and then added, “but you’ve apparently forgotten what that sounds like.”

There was a dangerous, murderous expression on the other man’s face, but Casey chose to return it with the most innocent look he could muster. He figured he was safe if for no other reason than the man wasn’t about to break his daughter’s heart by carrying through on any of the threats he regularly made regarding her intimacy with Casey.

“Tread lightly,” V. H. warned. “She’s still my daughter, and I’m certain I could find charges that would stick in order to separate you.”

That wiped the amusement away. “You wouldn’t.”

The other man sighed heavily. “No,” he agreed, “but sometimes it’s sorely tempting.”

After he dealt with a suddenly squirming Victoria, Casey looked across at V. H. piously state, “It’s clear your daughter doesn’t deal with separation well. When she’s deprived of me, her brain goes to kink.”

For a second, it looked as though Casey might have gone just that one step too far, but then V. H. shook his head and rolled his eyes before he heaved another heavy sigh. Casey didn’t miss Izzie’s snort of amusement from the kitchen, so he figured the other man gave in because he was outnumbered.

He should have known better.

A knock sounded on the door. “Actually, I don’t have to worry about shooting you,” V. H. told him with a cocked brow and a hard stare. “Your punishment’s at the door.”

Since no one else made a move to answer the imperious pounding that followed that knock, Casey sighed, scooped up Victoria, and went to do it himself.

Ariel Taylor gave Casey an irritated look before she smiled at Victoria. She reached for the baby, and Casey reluctantly let her take his daughter. “Where’s my daughter?” Ariel asked.

“Getting dressed.” Casey stepped aside and let her pass.

As Ariel did so, she said, “I see you couldn’t be bothered.”

He bit back a reply, figured he might as well play nicely with one of his in-laws. Thankfully, Riah opened the bedroom door then. Casey hid his amusement over the fact she had showered and was fully dressed. Nearly every inch of her was covered by a long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. She’d even put on shoes despite the fact she normally went barefoot inside. Riah looked like she wanted to run and hide, so Casey bent, kissed her, and whispered in her ear, “Galina Vian.”

Her lips twitched, and she relaxed.

Casey chose to give Izzie a hand with getting breakfast on the table while Riah spoke with her parents.

“You could go cover that manly chest.” Izzie arched a brow as she handed him a platter and reached for the coffeepot. “It might get V. H. to calm down.”

Casey gave her an easy grin. “Now why would I want to do that?”

When Izzie called the others to the table, his wife apparently didn’t mind his lack of attire since she ran a hand over his chest and kissed him a little more thoroughly than she normally would have with an audience. Neither of her parents looked very happy when Riah smiled at them and suggested they sit.

As they finished the meal, V. H. finally got around to what he’d wanted to discuss with Casey. “Ariel’s taking you home. I don’t want Mariah’s name on a passenger manifest, and Diane and I think it’s a bad idea for her to leave on a government plane from the States. It’s also not a good idea to send her on ISI’s plane.”

Nodding, Casey realized he hadn’t been part of those plans. He wondered if he was going to be left to get back on his own. In hopes he could talk his way onto Ariel’s plane with his wife, he didn’t object, instead asked, “Decoy?” After all, in order for this to work, they’d have to make Nevins and any co-conspirators believe Riah hadn’t left at all.

V. H. nodded. “Izzie and I worked it out.”

For whatever reason, Casey noticed, no one seemed willing to share the plan. Ariel asked her daughter, “Are you packed?”

Riah blushed then. “I’ve been a little . . . busy.”

Casey bit back a smile. Izzie, he noticed, simply covered her mouth to hide one. V. H. looked like someone slipped a lemon into his eggs.

“Mariah,” her mother said sternly, “you’ve known since yesterday.” She gave Casey a hard look. “You did tell her, didn’t you?”

There were several ways to play this, he realized, so he chose the one he hoped would set off the most explosions. “Your daughter had more important things to do.”

Izzie carefully kept her attention trained on her plate, but Casey’s wife leaned into him and lifted a brow. Riah was about to say something, but it was V. H. who growled, “I wouldn’t say that was especially important.”

Casey enjoyed Ariel’s obvious confusion when she asked, “What?”

His wife, though, gave her father an angry glare. “I was doing John,” Riah groused as she handed a teething ring to Victoria, “but Dad, Isobel, and the two guards outside decided we needed an audience.”

As he watched the color stain her cheeks again, Casey met her gaze, realized Riah had moved from embarrassed to pissed off, and added, “We decided to celebrate going home.”

His meaning wasn’t lost on Ariel, obviously. “Ah. Getting reacquainted.”

Curious, he studied her. It dawned on him she enjoyed poking V. H. every bit as much as he did, and Casey and Riah had set her up nicely. V. H. looked like he was choosing an execution method, though. “You’ll ride with a couple of operatives,” the other man bit out. “Izzie’s going to take the baby for their usual walk.”

“No,” Riah said firmly.

“Not the actual baby,” Izzie assured her, “but I’ll need something of Victoria’s to dress her substitute in.”

“You’re not jeopardizing a child,” his wife told her tightly, and though her father promised they would use a doll and not an actual child, Riah took some convincing.

While Izzie and Ariel cleaned the kitchen and V. H. watched Victoria, Casey took a shower, dressed, and repacked his bag while Riah packed her things and Victoria’s. When they were ready, Casey watched an intricate dance begin in order to cover their tracks. The two operatives outside Riah’s door were relieved by two others. Izzie dressed a doll that looked creepily like Victoria in one of the baby’s outfits and strapped her in the stroller. V. H. then went out in the hall and asked the two men to accompany Izzie and Victoria on their walk, assured them that between him and Casey Riah would be safe. Once they cleared the building, V. H. led the way as Casey, Riah, Victoria, and Ariel walked the hallway to the elevator that took them to the parking garage. All but Ariel and V. H. climbed in the back of a dark-windowed SUV driven by two more of Adderly’s operatives.

Ariel got in her rental, and V. H. kissed his daughter and granddaughter before looking across at Casey. “Take care of them.”

Casey simply nodded, and V. H. shut the door and returned upstairs.

Once they were in the hangar with Ariel’s plane, the pilot got their luggage. Casey and Riah took their daughter onboard, and then the pilot opened the hangar doors and pulled the plane outside. Ariel arrived shortly afterward, boarded, and they were soon in the air.

Once they reach altitude, Casey settled deeper in his seat and only half listened to Riah and Ariel talk about Emma and about Victoria. The third time Riah stifled a yawn, her mother sighed and said, “You might as well get some sleep.”

Tired as well, Casey figured he might as well join his wife. Reluctantly, he handed Ariel his daughter and moved with Riah to one of the long, sofa-like seats toward the rear of the compartment. It was too short for Casey to lie down on, but Riah would be able to. He sat, but instead of stretching out on it, she curled up next to him, leaned her head on his shoulder. He moved his arm, put it around her, and she rested an arm over his chest and settled in.

 

Casey must have dozed because he could hear Ariel singing softly. It sounded like a lullaby, though not one he recognized. When she finished, Riah said, “I remember you used to sing that to me.”

Ariel sounded amused when she asked, “Do you ever sing to her?”

“Sometimes,” Riah admitted.

“You were always good,” her mother told her. “You could have made a career out of it if you had wanted.

It was all Casey could do not to snort. Because he wondered what he might learn about his wife by eavesdropping, he feigned sleep since neither woman had apparently noticed he was awake.

“No, Mum, I really couldn’t have.” He slitted his eyes to look at his wife who was now in a seat across from her mother and nursing their daughter. A smile tipped her lips. “I remember being thrown out of choir in grade three because the teacher said I couldn’t sing.”

Having heard her, Casey was curious how that could be.

“That stupid woman was tone deaf,” Ariel groused.

“You pissed her off, and she did it out of spite,” Riah corrected her. Casey could easily believe that. “It didn’t help that you hired voice coaches and then made her let me sing.”

Riah didn’t sound happy about that at all. He figured Ariel had made her give up her spare time—assuming Ariel hadn’t tightly scheduled her the way many parents seemed to these days—until she was perfect.

“I don’t want your life, Mum.” He remembered the night she’d explained that to him, and Casey wondered if she’d ever said it to her mother before.

“You chose your father’s instead,” Ariel sighed. “You could be a very rich woman now.”

“I’m already a very rich woman,” Riah told her dryly, “but if I’d done that, I’d be a very miserable woman. Besides, Mum, I’m not comfortable with people staring at me. I’d rather be the person in the corner no one notices.”

After a few moments, Ariel asked, “Does it bother you to give it up?”

Casey heard his wife laugh. “Considering I’ve probably been fired by now for not showing up and not notifying my supervisor, I don’t think it matters.”

“I didn’t mean working in ICOM,” Ariel snapped. “You should have been fast-tracked to International Affairs, possibly Covert Affairs, given your performance at the Institute.” She sighed, took a breath, and said more calmly, “It was a serious question, Mariah.”

Curious what her answer would be, Casey waited for her to decide what to say.

“I’m not sorry to leave it behind, Mum,” Riah finally said, her tone thoughtful. “I’ll miss it, but I like the life I have now—assuming I actually get to stay in the same city with John for prolonged periods of time.”

“And what if you don’t?” her mother asked. “What if he gets sent overseas where you can’t follow? What if he gets killed?”

“Then I’ll simply do what I always do,” Riah said quietly. “I’ll survive.”

Casey tuned them out, thought about that response. She did, he realized. Every time she’d been thrown a curve that would have knocked most people on their asses if not completely out of the game, she’d picked herself up and gone right on with things. She might lose her bearings for a little while, the cracks might be a little deeper afterward, but, ultimately, Riah patched over and moved forward.

Perhaps that was why he’d fallen for her. Casey was much the same way. He got knocked on his ass, got up, dusted himself off, walled away any hurt, and moved on, careful to make sure he didn’t get himself into that sort of situation again. He admitted he was pretty lousy at avoiding some of them, but often enough, he’d seen the oncoming train and simply abandoned the tracks. He had his bumps and bruises, his broken bits, but he’d kept going.

And then he’d been lucky enough to find someone who didn’t care about the broken parts.

Riah had her own broken parts, but Casey didn’t give a good goddamn about those, either.

Huh.

Before he could chase that further, another of Ariel’s questions intruded on his thoughts. “What if you have more children?”

Casey liked the sound of that, but then he realized Riah might not. She got most of the parenting duty, after all, though he tried hard to make sure he didn’t leave all of it to her. The truth was, he was the one who left every day while she remained behind with their daughter. She’d never given any sign she resented that, but he wondered if she might just a little.

“I hope we do,” Riah told her mother, “but if we don’t, I’ll be happy with just Victoria.”

It rang true, so Casey relaxed, dozed off again. Not long afterward, he felt Riah curl into him once more, and he stirred, shifted so he could pull her close and kiss her before he dropped off again.

 

They didn’t go to Los Angeles, at least not directly. Instead, they flew to San Diego where Ariel had a show. She deplaned, and after it was taken into its borrowed hangar, Casey, Riah, and Victoria got off. Outside was a familiar SUV which had pulled into the hangar beside the plane before the hangar doors were shut. He and Bartowski loaded the luggage while Riah got in the backseat and buckled Victoria in the car seat. Walker got in the back with Riah, and Casey climbed into the driver’s seat. Bartowski rode shotgun.

It was a strange replay, though with slightly shuffled seats, of Riah’s arrival in L.A. She and Walker made awkward conversation, while he drove. Bartowski chimed in now and again, and when the small talk died down, Casey said, “Nevins.”

“He crossed the border at Niagara Falls,” Walker told them. “We tailed him to Buffalo and then to Rochester.”

When she added nothing further, Casey prompted, “And?”

“He vanished.”

Casey would find out who was responsible for losing the bastard the second he got home. At least the prick was headed east and south when he was last seen, but Casey knew it wasn’t that hard to lay a false trail and then double back. With any luck, Nevins would change his appearance, cross the Canadian border and try to find Riah there. With further luck, V. H. and ISI’s finest would find and take him. Of course, if they failed and Nevins and his partners figured out she wasn’t in Ottawa, logic would surely send them to Los Angeles—where Casey would be waiting for them.

He was tired when they pulled up to the apartment complex in Echo Park, and Riah looked equally tired. Victoria was fussy when her mother took her from her car seat while he got their bags. Riah had packed lightly, just a single bag, and Casey wondered how she had managed that given how much gear one lone baby often seemed to require. There had been times he’d watched Riah pack Victoria’s diaper bag and considered he’d carried field packs with less equipment.

As they walked into the courtyard, Ellie came rushing toward them, arms outstretched, and Casey longed hard for a riot shield with which to hold her off. Fortunately, she made a beeline for Riah, first hugging his wife and, second, relieving her of Victoria, whom Ellie cooed at and cuddled.

Listening, Casey wondered how otherwise intelligent human beings could suddenly become so brainless when faced with an infant who was quite capable of recognizing some of the normal speech she was often denied by a few of the grownups around her. As a result, it was all he could do to keep from saying so when Captain Airhead joined Ellie to torture Victoria with baby talk.

Ellie smiled at them, one of those blinding Bartowski smiles that required eye protection, though her wattage was slightly dimmer than that of the male of the species. “We have to celebrate your homecoming!”

Riah gave her a tired smile of her own. “Not tonight,” she said. “I haven’t had much sleep lately, and it was a long trip.”

“Take a nap,” Ellie told her. “I’ll make dinner, and you can come over and eat and then get back to rest.”

His wife shot Casey a surprisingly helpless look. Normally Riah had no problems at all deflecting others when she wasn’t in the mood to be social, and she was far better at it than he since he tended to either walk off or simply say a curt no. As he looked again at Ellie, he couldn’t bring himself to do either of those, and looking at her intent expression, Casey wasn’t at all sure they could get out of letting Ellie celebrate, so he met Riah’s startled eyes and tried to find an excuse.

“We could invite Alex,” Ellie rushed on. “You have to meet Alex, right John?”

His wife paled slightly, and she took on a cornered look. It finally occurred to him that Riah might be comfortable with him establishing a relationship with his older daughter, but she didn’t appear to be the least bit interested in being part of that. He needed to find out what she thought, but in front of an audience wasn’t the ideal situation. “Maybe we should—“ he began, prepared to delay Riah’s introduction to Alex, but Ellie was having none of it.

“It’ll be perfect,” she said, “no pressure. You can meet and get a feel for one another.”

Casey suspected there would be all too much pressure on all sides. He knew Alex was still trying to figure him out, and she knew little to nothing about Riah. His wife, for that matter, had admitted she had mixed emotions about the young woman who was her husband’s oldest daughter. Casey also suspected that with Grimes present—and Grimes would definitely be present if Bartowski was—the wild card that was the bearded idiot would only do damage.

To his surprise, Riah said a quiet. “Alright.”

“Riah?”

She looked up at him. “It has to happen sometime,” she admitted with a shrug, “and it might as well be when I don’t have time to obsess over it.”

Ellie handed Victoria to her mother, hugged Riah again, and touched Casey’s arm. She gave them a time, smiled and told Riah, “I’m so glad you’re back,” before she headed to her own home.

Woodcomb gave them a grin of his own, and an “Awesome!” before he followed his wife.

Inside their apartment, Casey set their bags down and asked Riah, “Would you rather I called Alex and asked her not to come?”

Riah chewed her lower lip a moment. “Ellie’s right. I have to meet her sometime.”

As they went upstairs, Casey considered what he needed to say. When Riah stopped inside their bedroom, he nearly ran into her. Taking her hips, he turned her, walked her toward the room where she’d moved his spy stuff when she bought furniture the year before. He’d finally painted that room for Victoria in the creamy yellow Riah had favored, and Walker and Bartowski had followed the instructions he’d sent them while he was gone and moved his equipment out before moving Victoria’s crib and the rocker where Riah normally sat while she nursed their daughter into the same room. He’d bought another chair that had been placed near it. Alex had picked out bedding and curtains, which Casey explained to Riah as she stood in the doorway. Victoria fussed, rooted, so Riah took the rocker and opened her blouse to feed her. She looked around, while their daughter nursed, and Casey waited.

Riah smiled at him. “I like it.”

He took the other chair, and watched her feed their daughter. “Did you mean what you told your mother?”

This time she frowned.

“About having more children.”

She met his gaze, a thoughtful expression on her face before Riah finally asked, “What about you?”

It surprised him a little that it was the easiest thing in the world to say: “I think I could stand another one or two, but if Victoria’s it, I’m fine with that.”

His wife snorted, shook her head, and assured Casey, “I meant what I said.”

“Then we stick with the plan.”

“There’s a plan?” Riah asked with mock confusion, a slight smile hooking up one side of her mouth.

“There’s always a plan,” Casey told her and hastily assembled one in case she made him explain.

Instead, she asked him to tell her about his older daughter.

 

It could have been a train wreck, Casey acknowledged as he got ready for bed. Victoria was sound asleep in her room, and Riah was in the bathroom brushing her teeth. Instead, his wife and Alex had carefully felt their way through any potential landmines before bonding over, of all things, Victoria.

Alex had taken to her little sister immediately, and Casey didn’t realize until then he’d been afraid she’d resent Victoria. After all, his younger daughter had always had him while Alex had only recently come to realize he was even alive.

The worst moment had been when Grimes stood at his elbow and said, as they watched Alex hold Victoria so that the baby stood on her thighs, “Someday she’ll make a great mother.”

In that moment, Casey had a horrific vision of bearded babies with the surname Grimes who called him Grandpa. He let loose a low, grumbling growl and turned a disgusted look on the Bearded Troll. Alex liked the kid, though, and while Casey hoped it would turn out they would simply be friends, he couldn’t shake the feeling there might be something else growing there. Grimes wasn’t the complete waste of life Casey had previously believed him to be, though, so maybe it might work.

God, he hoped not, he thought as Riah returned from the bathroom.

When they were in bed, the lights out, Casey formed his body around hers, drew her back against him and rested an arm over her waist. He kissed the line of her jaw as Riah turned her head so he could kiss her goodnight. “Too tired?”

She snorted.

Casey nibbled along her throat, moved his hand so it cupped her breast. “This got us in trouble this morning,” she reminded him.

“I’ll make sure the sex is so boring no one comes busting in,” he offered.

“Make it boring and I file for divorce first thing in the morning,” Riah shot right back.

He laughed softly against the skin of her throat. “Try it, and I’ll kill your lawyer.”

“Isn’t that outside the scope of your authority?”

Casey rolled her over and smiled. “What is it they say, ‘First kill all lawyers’?”

“I don’t believe the NSA has that as a mandate,” Riah chided as she pulled him down for a kiss.

“Surely there’s something in the Patriot Act,” Casey told her before he plundered her mouth.

“Maybe your General Beckman would simply nullify our marriage again,” she countered.

He stopped her from adding anything else in the same way he generally did. If it was a little easier to attach words Casey used to believe he’d never use to what they did, it was alright with him. He had no idea where the job would go, no idea what the next phase in the part of his world that intersected with Bartowski’s would turn out to be, but he knew this was one part of his life that was stable, wouldn’t change, unless someone like Nevins finally got lucky. It was simply a good thing Casey was very, very good at making sure those kinds of men never got that lucky.


End file.
